A Little Less Human
by ThePeacefulTempest
Summary: The normal way to pay for college would be to get a job at a cafe. The wrong and unethical, albeit more exciting, way to pay for college is to find yourself hired by the one and only Harry Osborn to investigate the secrets his company is keeping. Reagan Knox chose the latter, and she's not entirely sure she regrets it. HarryxOC,TASM2MovieVerse,Cursing,Mentions of other MarvelMovies
1. Useless Ability to Control Solitaire

**This chapter has been updated - 16/06/15**

**Hello, everyone. First thanks so much for checking out my story; it means a lot. This is also my first fanfic so I'm really looking to improve my writing. I also want to say that I am not completely going to ignore the other Marvel movies (some aspects may even be part of my plot). I hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

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**Chapter 1:**  
**Useless Ability to Control Solitaire**

A badly dressed twenty-some frantically runs down the street; bumming into people as she not-so gracefully dances through the crowds of New York City. Her gray oxford heels clomping as she runs. The angry shouts of "Hey!" and "Watch it!" from people who have been nearly flattened by the purple haired young lady in the atrocious outfit go unheard by her. This particular, and it should be added speedy, girl happens to possess no ability for dressing herself in what is usually considered _acceptable fashion_. The patterns of her floral pants and orange polka-dot pull-over clash with each other almost as much as she clashes with the people she runs into.

She is late to class, hence why she is dashing through the city, she's used to it though; being late to class is Reagan's specialty. It's part of her morning routine on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays (which are class days for her). The night before she'll set her alarm for 7 am and not get up until 8:30-something. Then she'll stumble into clothes, make coffee, shove breakfast (whatever was left over from dinner last night) down her throat, shake her books and laptop into her bag, make coffee again, and run like hell because Reagan Knox doesn't use public transport. Reagan's thoughts are usually the same these mornings; they go something along the lines of "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit," and so forth.

By the time Reagan arrives at NYU she's out of breath, red faced (although no one would be able to see with her unnatural purple hair stuck to her face), and unfortunately…moist with perspiration.

She makes it late to her computer programming class, although, on the bright side Tracey, her round-faced classmate with small facial features, is used to Reagan's tardiness and keeps wonderful notes. Reagan slowly and quietly sneaks to her sit beside her brunette friend; not because the professor didn't know she was always late. He was very aware that Miss Knox was almost never on time for class, Reagan knew that for sure. He'd always give her a look shortly after she'd sit down, a look that told her "he was dissatisfied with her _rebellious attitude". _He'd only ever said something to her once, something like "_You're a bright student and as long as you don't miss the actually lectures and hand in everything on time I'll over look you missing the first ten minutes of class." _Reagan thanks whatever programmer programmed her with mad computer skills every day.

Tracey gives Reagan a knowing smile and an eyebrow raise; the same expression Reagan gets every time. "You didn't miss much. Professor Finch was just telling us about why we shouldn't fail this next project," Tracey informs in a hushed tone. Reagan groans as she shrinks in her seat. "I honestly don't know why you bother to set an alarm still. You're not going to wake up any sooner."

"Zip it, bob cut," Reagan retorts.

"I'll shut up when you stop being late, plum hair," she chuckles.

Both girls look at each other with challenging expressions, however, neither of them acts. They just sit back and listen to Professor Finch; both knowing they'll pick up their squabbling later.

The two have been like this ever since they met less than two years ago, even on the day they met they were bickering and insulting one another in a joking manner.

* * *

"Would you even get out of bed in the morning if you didn't know you'd see me?" Tracey asks in a joking arrogance. Her brunette bob bounces as she skips lightly to their normal table outside of the coffee house they frequent.

Both girls sit down and pull out their laptops.

As Reagan's laptop starts up she nurses her black coffee. "Actually Coffee, not you, that's why I crawl out of bed every day." Reagan tells Tracey in monotone.

"Glad to know I rank below coffee."

Reagan smirks at Tracey from over her coffee cup.

The women fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of them typing away and the chatter from surrounding groups create a familiar atmosphere. They go on like this for a while; it's normal for them to do this while studying. They spend their time together and all they do is work on their laptops. It gives them a sort of comfort though; knowing that the other is there. Knowing they aren't alone brings peace to the two.

After what is close to an hour of silence one of them break its; usually to ask the other for help or just bring up a random topic. Tracey is the one to break the silence today, "So, will you tell me today?"

"No," Reagan counters.

"You know, that answer is really getting old" Tracey sighs. This is an ongoing topic and it always ends with Tracey getting shut down by Reagan. "Look, I already know about your 'side projects' and a lot of other stuff about you, so why can't I know this?" Tracey pleads.

Reagan lets out an aggravated sigh and pushes her coffee cup into her face. Reagan gives Tracey a warning glare over the rim of her cup, it does nothing to diminish Tracey's persistent look. "Trace, you already know that I'm a-" Reagan looks around nervously, leans in, and lowers her voice, "A mutant. The less you know about me in that area the safer you are. So just leave your nose out of this."

"So knowing what your power is, is worse than knowing you work as an illegal hacker?" Tracey asks in a frustrated whisper.

Reagan shuts her laptop with a loud slam; startling Tracey. There have only been a couple instances where Tracey has pushed Reagan on a topic so far that Reagan will yell. However, with them being in public and the sensitivity of the conversation, it is impossible for Reagan to yell. Reagan meets Tracey's pricing gaze with one of her own; they stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack. It is Reagan. "I'm a technopath or cyberpath. Basically, my power is technology manipulation; I have a connection with mechanics."

Tracey stares at her with disbelief and curiosity. A smile appears on Tracey's lips, stating small and growing quite large and goofy. "That is so awesome!" Tracey exclaims. "Can you show me?" She asks eagerly.

"I can win that game of solitary you've been playing – instead of studying – by just touching your laptop." Reagan lays her hand against the back of Tracey's laptop. Tracey shifts back as the digital cards start to move on their own and complete the game themselves. Tracey just stares at Reagan with her eyebrows raised.

"That was cool. Can you do that with all computers? What about with any kind of technology? Do you actually have any real skills at hacking?" Tracey rapidly fires questions.

Reagan's mouth is moving but no words are coming out, she's thinking over how to properly answer Tracey's questions. "I can control computers - correction, I can control my computer and partially control other's - although, the more complicated the computer the more I have to work. I've heard of technopaths who have a connection with all technology. I, however, only have I connection with some. I don't have the power to control coffee makers, unfortunately. Excuse me? Yes, actually, I do! I was good with computer science and hacking way before I discovered my powers."

"Wait, why don't you have a connection with all technology? I mean it doesn't make sense for you to be only able to connect with some and not others." Tracey questions.

Reagan taps her fingers on the lid of her closed laptop. "My powers aren't strong; actually, they're really weak. I should be able to connect with all machines; I know this because I can sense the energy in the air. Weakly, but I can still feel it, although, it's all blurry and distant. I think the only reason I have a strong connection or any kind of connection with computers is because I was very good with them before the mutant gene evolved in my DNA. I think because I understand them, how they're programmed and stuff, my powers have been able to develop."

Tracey listens intently to Reagan.

"So, aren't there places or people you can go to that specialize in developing mutant powers?" Tracey inquires.

"There is, but I have no clue how to go about finding them. Mutants aren't exactly openly welcome in most places. If you support mutants and developing the mutant gene you've got to stay hidden." Reagan replies with yearning.

"So, it's like a 'don't call us, we'll call you' sort of deal?" Tracey questions.

"Yep," The disappointment is clear in Reagan's voice. The girls fall back into a less comfortable silence, neither one knowing what to say. The sounds of Manhattan rush-hour attract the girl's attention, horns honking and the occasional angry shout.

As the girls gather their stuff Tracey begins to speak again, "do you want me to walk home with you?"

"No, I think I'll walk by myself tonight. Thanks though."

Tracey nods her head in acknowledgement. "Thanks, Reagan. Really, you didn't have to tell me, but it makes me feel like you trust me." Reagan doesn't say anything she just nods and waves as she walks away from Tracey.

Reagan lets out a breath, "I do, Tracey. More than you know."

* * *

The coffee pot dings to signify that Reagan's substance is complete in creation. She eagerly skates over to the pot in her socks, bracing her arms on the counter to stop. She grabs her coffee and sits down in front of her laptop; she rolls her neck and flexes her interlocked fingers. Bones popping and cracking as she starches and a sigh of relief escapes her. "Alright; time to work," Reagan says in a serious manner. Reagan doesn't have a proper job, what she does for money isn't practical and her pay is never consistent.

Reagan Knox: a freelance hacker who takes jobs when she can and is making a name for herself in the shady underground. Maybe not her proudest achievement, but she chooses the jobs. That's the agreement; that's always the agreement. She never meets her employers; because whoever they are she doesn't want to know. There's a certain bench, in central park, if someone wants a job done they leave an envelope under it. If Reagan wants it she takes the content inside the envelope and leaves a note that says _okay_, if she doesn't take the job she leaves everything in the envelope, under the bench, with a note saying _nope._

It's a hard game to play, deciding what is just too illegal and what is acceptable. There is also _not_ drawing attention to herself, particularly from the police. Getting arrested isn't high on Reagan's list of must-do-at-least-once-in-my-lifetime. Funny enough, she doesn't want to disappoint her parents by having a run-in with the law; yet that is an occupational hazard. Obviously, her parents have no clue about what it is she really does. They actually think she's a Technical Support Specialist (Although, with some jobs she taken she might as well be). The only person who knows what she really does is Tracey, who actually is a Technical Support Specialist at Oscorp.

It was an accident how Tracey found out about Reagan's illegal accomplishments. They were having a girl's night at Reagan's, romantic movies, wine, and other cliché crap. At some point during the night Reagan left the room and Tracey, being the nosy son of a bitch she is, had always wondered why Reagan was so secretive about her laptop. Reagan came back into the room to the sight of Tracey pointing and squeaking at Reagan's laptop. They had a long conversation involving inappropriate words and flying paraphernalia. Somehow, by the grace of some all-powerful deity they came out of the fight understanding each other better.

As per-usual when Reagan works late nights, she falls asleep at her desk, the light of her laptop screen shines on her. Reagan is in a half sitting-on-her-chair and half-lying-on-her-desk position; still in her ridiculously, mismatched outfit.

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**So, the first couple chapters are going to be a bit slow. I'll try to upload those soon, but once the first couple are uploaded I will most likely not post so frequently. If you want please review.**


	2. Batten Down the Keyboards

**Well, here is the second chapter. Thanks to anyone who reviewed, followed, favourited, and read. It really means a lot to me.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own the Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

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**Chapter 2**

**Batten Down the Keyboards**

Location: Reagan Knox's apartment. Date: Saturday. Time: 11:26am. Reagan Knox: Currently sleeping on her desk while still sitting in her computer chair. Everything is silent inside the open-floor apartment; everything is normal inside the apartment. Clothes, clean and dirty, are scatter around the bed and dresser, all the dishes have been washed and are laying dried on the dry rack, waiting, ready to be put away. Reagan's bins of random computer parts are tightly packed under her bed, and post cards from her parents in Florida are strewn about the kitchen counters; words of love are constant in the postcards, so are questions about male companionship.

Outside the apartment building the ever-going sounds of New York City are sane, no crashing sounds of destruction from Spider-man protecting the city for the greater good. Just the sounds of car horns honking and people babbling away can be heard. The noises from the apartment units are going strong on this early Saturday morning. Jane Reid a single mother of three children under the age of eleven live directly above Reagan; the three children are currently running and stomping above.

To the left of Reagan's apartment lives a married couple in their early thirties, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Well, that's not their real last name; it's actually Austin, nonetheless, Reagan just refers to them as Smith. See, he's cheating on her and she's slowly embezzling money from him so she and his brother can runway to California together. Yes, she's hacked their…everything. She wasn't going to; she respects that her neighbour's crap is their crap, although, she got a little suspicious the second time Mr. Austin's hand _brushed_ her ass. It was after the third time she decided to look into Mr. Austin; not long after that she discovered Mrs. Austin's indiscretions. That's when she just started to refer to them as Smith and chose to let them deal with their muddled chaos of a marriage on their own. At the present moment Mr. and Mrs. Smith were watching the morning news, no doubt on opposite sides of the sofa. The TV volume is turned up louder than normal and can be faintly heard through the walls.

A sound emerges in the silent home of Reagan Knox; it's the quiet sound of the wheels on her computer chair as they begin to move. They squeak slowly along the floor as Reagan's body shifts; the wheels' motion begins slowly and gradually gains speed as the sleeping body shifts more and more. The chair suddenly and urgently slips backwards; leaving Reagan to be harshly awakened by her face falling off the desk and her body hitting the floor. Stunned and put-off by the chair's betrayal, Reagan lies there, gaping in agony. She's too afraid to move in case the chair decides to finish the job. Reagan cautiously rolls away from the homicidally chair and pops up a couple feet away. The first thing on Reagan's mind after an ambush like that is her morning coffee; steaming hot and bitter, to that Tracey would say 'Just like you like your men.'

* * *

Reagan stands in front of a full length mirror while she dresses in a multi-coloured pullover that looks like it's from the 80s, and forest green pants. They don't match, of course, but Reagan doesn't really notice. Stuff like whether her clothes matched didn't matter to Reagan; she was always too busy taking apart computers to notice that socks weren't supposed to be pulled up to your calves. Reagan pushes her damp, freshly washed hair off her face. Her features are average, by her account (and the guys she dated), Reagan has a square face and a strong jaw line, however, her cheeks are on the pudgier side and her cheek bones almost blend into her face. Her eyebrows are long and brown, and her lips are small in size, but are plump and have a natural upturn. Reagan has always thought her nose was too big for her face; she finds it throws off her other facial features. Reagan's build is tiny; she gets that from her mother. Reagan may be short, but what height she does have is in her legs, everything else is just kind of…miniscule.

As Reagan looks at her own reflection she begins to groan; she leans forwards and her face falls against the mirror. Her face is pressed up against the glass, smudging the mirror as her face is dragged down by gravity and her deterrent.

_Go, go Power Rangers!_

The familiar sound of Reagan's ringtone comes from against her ass. She groans again. As she pulls her phone out of her back pocket she looks at the caller: Turd Taco (Tracey). "Hello?" It comes out sad and slurred because someone has their face squished into a mirror.

_"You okay? You sound sad." _ Tracey says with concern.

"No. My face and the mirror are just becoming one."

"_Why are you and the mirror becoming one?" _ She asks with slight irritation but still massive amounts of patience. They've had similar conversations and Tracey is used to dealing with people, it is her job after all.

"It was looking at me," whined Reagan.

"_Get off the mirror and have another cup of coffee. Actually, have two." _Tracey used a tone that said she knew exactly what needed to be done. "_I'll be there in ten to pick you up. And I don't want to see you and the mirror attached when I get there." _With that Tracey hung up the phone. Tracey has never been particularly fond of parting with people on the phone. Her reason of thinking is why spend time in an awkward goodbye when you can just slap the conversation shut and avoid the whole _who-should-hang-up-first_ jig. The first time Tracey unexpectedly hung up the phone during Reagan's awkward farewell Tracey was sure she'd lost the new friend she was finding in her classmate. However, when Reagan asked her about why she had hung up on her and Tracery told her reasoning; Reagan had thanked her for hanging up. Of course Reagan didn't give any explanation as to why she was thanking Tracey; she just thanked her and said nothing more. Well, Tracey could not be happy with that. She tried to ignore the irritation of not knowing something, but she couldn't contain herself. When Tracey asked Reagan, Reagan just looked at her for a minute before speaking (Reagan couldn't believe someone had just ignored her social awkwardness and actually had to ask about it); to this day Tracey still describes the look on Reagan's face as if a whale had just tried to communicate with Reagan. Reagan claims her face never looked like that; she said she'd 'be more understanding to a whale'.

The draw of coffee that Tracey has placed in Reagan's mind grants her the strength to part with the mirror. As she makes her coffee a loud pounding followed by a crash comes from above her. Reagan alertly looks up to her roof; all is silent above; too silent. Reagan lets out a sigh and smiles, "the elephants are at it again," she speaks eerily into the empty apartment.

Reagan hears her lock turn and a voice through the newly open doorway, "did I hear something break?" Tracey questions as she steps into the apartment.

"It was the elephants from upstairs."

"Again" Tracey asks in disbelief. Reagan nods.

Striding over into Reagan's personal space; Tracey peers at the purple haired girl with question and worry. Reagan shifts on her spot; uncomfortable with the prying eyes from her intense best friend.

Unable to stand the questions Tracey is not asking her; Reagan crumbles and answers the slightly taller girl. "I'm fine; now stop giving me those eyes." To Reagan's dismay Tracey doesn't. "Stop it! I am fine. I was just-"

"Quarrelling with your reflection?" Tracey interrupts.

"More like succumbing," Reagan quickly admitted.

"You baffle me, Reagan Knox, you know that? You absolutely hate the way you look. Whenever you see yourself you go into this gloom-coma." Reagan snorted at that. "No, no; I'm serious. You dye your hair to distract from your face, you only own two mirrors; the bathroom mirror and the one your mom gave you, and you hate spoons. The only time you use metal spoons instead of plastic ones is when you have company over."

Reagan took her time sipping her coffee; she acted as if her interest was solely on her coffee. A habit she started doing whenever someone was telling her something she didn't want to hear. "Does this have a point, Trace?" Reagan murmured into her mug.

"Yes. You don't like what you see in the mirror, so one would think that something like having no fashion sense would concern you."

Reagan rinsed her mug in the sink, and with no more _wall_ to hide behind she rolled her eyes to Tracey. "You good now? Can we go or is there anything else you'd like to commit on?"

"Alright, Grumpy the dwarf. I'm ready to go if you are." Tracey put her hands up to show her surrender.

Reagan huffed at her, about to jibe back at the brunette, but was beat.

"I just think it's a little odd; being afraid of spoons, but feeling perfectly comfortable dressed like a hobo," Tracey quipped.

Reagan failed to suppress her laughter with an aggravated look, and this resulted in her snorting. "You're a bum."

"Mhhh, no I think you are."

"Shut up," laughed Reagan. "I need to print something before we go." Reagan ran over to her laptop and brushed her hand across the closed lid. She could feel the energy around her hand change as she did. The vibrations she felt from the dormant machine jumped alive with her touch, sending a plus through her body and into the air around her. Reagan became intertwined with the life in her laptop, and only her laptop. She could feel the life of the other machines around her; although, she just couldn't connect with them. It was like they were two parallel lines; always travelling together and always aware of the others presence, but never meeting.

The sound of the printer starting up startled Tracey; she gasped at the unexpected sound. "That is so cool," she marvelled.

Reagan didn't respond; she just grabbed her newly printed papers and shoved then into a yellow envelope; then stuffed that and her laptop into her bag.

* * *

Tracey waited at a street corner; she wasn't allowed to go with Reagan while she was duck-taping a yellow envelope filled with illegally obtained information to the bottom of a city owned fixture. Said criminal rounded the corner, and as she got within hearing distance of Tracey she started to skip and whistle _Singin' in the Rain_.

Tracey raised her eyebrows at Reagan. "Planning to commit a different felon?"

Reagan looped her arm onto Tracey's and pulled her along. "I think maybe we should turn this conversation away from my occupation and onto yours."

"You just want to hear stories about my job so you can pass them off to your parents as your own." Tracey taunted. "Well, here's the big headline that all the nerds are passing around under their desks with sticky notes. Mr. Osborn's health is catching up with him; word is he won't last the week."

"So if Mr. Osborn dies does that mean that his model-dating, delinquent son will run the leading company in clean energy?" Reagan inquired.

"We're tying down our keyboards," cheeked Tracey.

Reagan and Tracey spent the rest of the day running errands and working on their project. It was late in the evening when the girls parted ways; Tracey had taken the subway and Reagan walked. Reagan had made the decision to stop by _her bench_ on her way home. She was always bored when she didn't have a job to focus on.

Sitting down on the bench she looked around the area; she was alone. Reagan reached under the bench to feel for an envelope. After a couple moments of feeling the underside of the bench with her hands she found it. She pulled out the large yellow envelope and ripped it open with her fingers. She pulled out the contents of the envelope; it was a bunch of papers. In great detail the papers described to her what she was requested to do.

Many words and sentences jumped out at her: animal testing, the lizard man was Dr. Connors, mutation, the Osborn family, illegal testing, OsCorp involved in cover-up. The job was dangerous, in fact it was suicidal. Certainly, it would get her arrested.

Her mission, if she should choose to accept it, is to retrieve crippling information on animal testing by breaking into and hacking Oscorp. This message will defiantly self-destruct in Reagan's face.

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**Sweet, another one done. If you want to leave a reviews that would be more than awesome. If, you made it this far thank you so much!**


	3. We're Not All Born Flexible and Russian

**Alright, I just want to start off by saying that I am going to change the time length of the story from the movie. It felt really fast and I have more stuff to put in than the movie's time length will allow for. Also, I felt like Harry's disease progressed too fast and I found the speed very unreal. Although, maybe to Harry the disease progressed fast and we, the audience, just experienced it through Harry's prospective. Food for thought, I guess. Anyway, Thank you so much to all who reviewed, followed, put it in their favourites, and read my story.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

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**Chapter 3**

**We're Not All Born Flexible and Russian**

It was dark and cold outside when Reagan stepped through the doors of her apartment building, the warmth of the familiar lobby was welcoming. It wasn't a fancy building, but it was a very homely one, the lobby was small and only contained mall boxes and a little sitting area in the corner. Jane Reid is currently a fixture in the lobby; she's grabbing the mail from her box with two laundry baskets on the floor beside her, one basket stacked on top of the other. Jane's appearance is a lazy one, her short blonde hair is in a messy bun and she is wearing grey sweats. Jane also looks to be exhausted, bags under her eyes and her wrinkles seem more noticeable then usually; this is no doubt caused from her three young children and her job.

Reagan takes a couple large steps over to Jane and picks up the top basket when she arrives beside her friend. She smiles warmly at the older woman. "So," Reagan begins. "What did the elephants break this morning?"

Jane gives Reagan a tired smile and raised eyebrows; she drops her mail into the laundry basket still on the ground before picking it up. "Luckily it was only some plates," Jane finally responses. The two women walk over to the elevator, as they are waiting for it to arrive, Jane initiates conversation this time, "Sorry you have to hear them," she apologizes.

"Don't apologies. You're just worried and embarrassed because of your children; that's no reason to apologise."

Jane gives Reagan a thankful smile. The elevator dings as the doors open and the two women walk into an empty box. Jane presses one of the round buttons on the wall, the number 12 lights up and the elevator jolts to life.

"Besides, I love your children. I won't get mad at them for the noise," Reagan states.

Jane laughs, her laugh is low and gently. It's a laugh that Reagan finds quite comforting, because any time the stressed-beyond-belief Jane laughs Reagan fills as though she's done something good.

They arrive on the 12th floor and walk down to Jane's apartment. When Jane opens the door she lets out a greeting to let her children know that she is home and that Reagan is there. Reagan is greeted with three blonde children (one boy and two girls) running to greet her. The oldest, Josh takes the laundry basket from Reagan's hands as the two little girls cling onto her legs, Hannah the middle is on her right and Katie the youngest is on her left. Reagan thanks Josh and marches over to the sofa complaining all the way about how heavy the blonde creatures strapped to her lags are. Reagan falls on the sofa with a loud sigh, Katie is off her leg in an instant and sitting on her lap and Hannah, who was only a little slower to release Reagan's leg sits beside her. The two speak at an abnormally fast pace as they tell Reagan about their day and Reagan listens and asks them questions.

After a couple minutes of not being seen Josh picks up Hannah and places her on his lap as he joins them on the couch. Reagan suspects he was putting away his sisters and his clothes. Josh is a responsible brother, ever sense their dad left he has made it his job to take care of his little sisters.

The four of them talk until Jane tells Hannah and Katie to start getting ready for bed, this of course results in whining from the two girls, but after a stern look from their mother they more or less (less) compliantly waddle away from the three older people.

"Hey, Josh. You wanna hang out sometime? Maybe we could watch the original Tron movie?" Reagan asks the young boy.

Josh looks over to his mother with a plea in his eyes. "Can I, mom? Please!" He begs.

"Of course, Josh"

"Yes!" The young boy says with glee as he jumps. Josh runs out of the room, but as quick as he left he is back and mutters a speedy thanks to both women.

Once he has left Jane arouses conversation, "thank you so much for spending time with him. He's been a little upset since Rick hasn't called him yet this week."

Rick, Jane's ex and the children's father usually calls once a week. Jane has full custody (that was more Rick's decision then Jane's), but he still calls them. Reagan has come to care for the three munchkins and she knows the separation is the hardest on Josh since he remembers Rick the most. That's why she invites Josh to do stuff with her; she figured the kid could use a friend, especially one who isn't intent on becoming a princess. Josh actually wants to be a computer programmer, so, their friendship works out very well.

Jane heavily sits down beside Reagan. "I also have to worry about the foreclosure letter I got. I can't imagine moving, and the kids are so attached to you."

Reagan waves off Jane's thanks and comments that everything will work out in the end. The two women say their good-byes and part ways. Once Reagan is back in her apartment with closed doors she lets out a muffled scream. She sinks down her door and pulls out an envelope from her bag. "Why did I take you? Huh? Am I stupid?" She grills the envelope then throws it across the floor. Reagan's first move after her momentary lapse of sanity is to pull out her phone and hit the third number on speed dial. It rings. It rings again. And is half way through its third ring before the receiver of this call picks up.

"Did you miss-" Tracey begins but is not able to finish on the account of being cut off.

"I need into Oscorp. Can I visit you tomorrow?" Is Reagan's rushed greeting.

"You call someone and don't even let them say hello."

Reagan is silent.

"Fine, you can visit me at work tomorrow, but you are telling me why?" Tracey answers agitated.

"No. Thanks," and with that Reagan ends the call.

* * *

Reagan sits on the floor beside Tracey's desk; her laptop is her only focus. Reagan got into Oscorp using a visitor's pass, however, that pass doesn't apply when visiting Tech Support. Luckily most of Tracey's co-workers didn't notice or just don't give a shit about the random purple haired college student hiding in the boring cubical.

The Technical Support department of Oscorp is one of the most dreadful places in the building, mostly because nothing ever happens there. The offices are actually very nice, state of the arc or something, and they have always fascinated Reagan, so much technology everywhere. If Reagan was in better control of her abilities she'd be able to breathe in the run of power that surges throughout the building. She would be able to feel the energy flowing like blood and pulsing as though it were a living organism. Unfortunately, Reagan is not in better alignment with her powers and has no idea the high her could get from a building such as this. If she were to know about the high she could get from having complete control over her power she would never again be satisfied with the slight zeal she is getting from having her laptop navigate Oscorp's records.

Tracey, who is doing her job faithfully (as faithful as one can be while hiding a criminal), is a little troubled. Only briefly ago everything was fine, her companion was quiet and minding her own illegal business. Now, however, the criminal mastermind is frustratingly pounding her laptop keys and letting out a string of curse words under her breath.

"What is it?" An anxious Tracey whispers.

"I'm having difficulty accessing some encrypted files. It wouldn't be a problem if these weren't the files I need, but they are!" Reagan retorts. "It would be so much easier it I had the access to the mainframe."

"Getting to the mainframe is near impossible if you're job does not connect with it. I'm technical support and I've never seen the mainframe. There is no way I'd be able to get you there and I highly doubt you can get there yourself."

Reagan bit her lip, hard. She knew she wasn't going to be able to walk into the mainframe room, but she had to do something. She gave Tracey a pleading look and received an exasperated look right back.

"Wait," Tracey begin. "There is one way. Mr. Osborn has access to all of the archives, maybe if you can sneak into his office and hack into his computer you'll be able to get-" Tracey pauses, "-what was it you need again?." Tracey fakes a nonchalant attitude.

Ignoring her question Reagan mulls her option over in her head. There is no other way to get the information she needs, but if she does this then there is a large possibility of being caught. She's not getting arrested, she can't get arrested. What about her life and her family? There is no way she can consider this a possibility.

"If I get out of this alive we are no longer friends," Reagan promises Tracey.

There is no way she can consider another possibility. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, it would be easier to get into the CEO office then a place where a bunch of people could spot her at any moment.

* * *

Reagan had spent the following days planning her intrusion of Oscorp's CEO office. It wouldn't be too hard to get in. She just had to become an expert Russian spy, that, or become the Black Widow, and everything would run smoothly. Unfortunately, Reagan is not, nor will she ever be, the very flexible redhead she's seen on TV.

Also, unfortunately, Reagan missed her window of opportunity. Norman Osborn died and Harry Osborn is the new CEO. Having a health CEO makes it much more difficult to infiltrate the sanctum of clean energy. The worst thing that could happen to Reagan is being caught by a brash, media whore. Not only would she be arrested, but her arrest would have media coverage. Everything the company or juvenile CEO does is covered by media.

She doesn't have a choice though; not following through with the job would be worse than getting caught. At least if she were to be caught she'd have the law and morals to protect her.

Reagan has it all planed out; thanks to her getting her hands on Osborn's schedule. She has a couple windows where he's in a meeting. All she has to do is use her visitor's pass to get in, use the stairs instead of the elevator, and pray there will be no one outside his office watching for young purple haired hackers.

Yeah, this will go well.

* * *

**Man, that took longer then I wanted to update, been a bit busy and lazy. As previously, thanks so much for reading and I would love to hear what you people out there in the world think. Now, I must sleep. I was out late swing dancing (as one normally is) and I'm really tired.**


	4. Apologies to the Janitor

**I wanted to get this up half a week ago, but I'm getting promoted at work so I've had a lot of training for that and I was also away the whole weekend and you guys don't really care. ANYWAY, I saw The Amazing Spider-Man 2 again so I could get more ideas. I've made the decision that Max's Birthday will be a turning point in the story and because of that it will happen latter in the story. Also, Peter and Harry's man-date will happen on a different day than Max's Birthday.**

**I'd like to thank anyone who read, reviewed, and faved. Also, A special thanks to GiraffePanda2 for reviewing. I'm really glad to hear what you liked.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 4  
Apologies to the Janitor**

The janitorial staff is going to hate Reagan Knox.

Why? Apparently only consuming caffeine mixed with the nerves of penetrating a highly important CEO office do not blend well in one's stomach.

Tracey is playing scout at the door to the women's washroom while Reagan liberates herself of the caffeine but not the nerves.

"You done yet?" Tracey almost gags herself at the heaving sounds coming from the third stall.

Reagan, now finished, washed her face and hands, pops a mint, and moans. "Yeah, I'm good, I'm – I'm ready, so ready." She takes a deep breath to gather her focus (or whatever focus is still left in her). "I'll call you and start heading for the stairs." Reagan pushes past Tracey and heads out the door into the busy office building, as she walks to the stairwell she pulls out her phone and hits the speed dial.

"_Remind me why you need to call me?" _Tracey opens with.

"I'm less likely to be disturbed if I look like I'm on an important phone call." Reagan replies as she enters the stairwell.

The stairwell is what one would expect; the walls and the floor blend into each other through the dull grey paint that is everywhere. The only other colour to be seen is the florescent yellow that outlines the grey numbers that indicate the floor; it doesn't do much to brighten Reagan's mood. As for the sound, well, the only sound in the entire stairwell is the clopping of Reagan's feet. For someone who is supposed to be _stealthy_ at risk of incarceration; she's really shitty at it. The noise echoes so loud people outside the stairwell could probably hear it.

"Would it be mildly inappropriate if I started to sing my own theme song?" Reagan questions Tracey through the phone.

"_I don't know what worries me more: that you said 'mildly' or that you have your own theme song."_

"I don't have my own – okay I have my own theme song." Reagan hesitantly admits.

Reaching the correct floor Reagan lets out a little woo. She peeks though the door; there are a couple guards and some guys in fancy suits. The familiar feeling of sudden regurgitation comes flooding back to Reagan, however, Reagan holds strong on the account of it looking very unsanitary if she were to puke in the potted plants.

"Okay, Trace. This is what I need you for. I'm going in three, two, one." Reagan struts into the room and begins a very urgent conversation about a huge mistake that needs to be fixed as fast as possibly so everyone can keep their job. For the most part Reagan's plan works; no one has stopped her yet, although the guards have giving her strange looks.

There is a doorway Reagan needs to get through and a guard outside of it. By the look on his face Reagan can tell he'll stop her to look at her ID; Reagan thinks fast, as she gets closer to the door she ups the urgency of her voice and quickly flashes the buff man her visitor's pass. Reagan prays he didn't get a good enough look at it. There is no response from the man, and each step is bringing Reagan closer to what she assumes is certain doom. Reagan contains her fear the best she can; if this is the end she's going to go down fighting, or at the very least not crying. Reagan counts the steps down: eight steps, seven steps, six steps, five steps.

To Reagan's utmost relief the man opens the door and gives her a sympathetic look as she passes by. The door closes behind her and Reagan lets out a mix between a sigh and a cry of relief. Her heart beat is still wildly out of control and she's having a hard time catching her breath.

"I made it. Your part is done." Reagan informs Tracey.

"_Be careful, Reagan."_

"Tracey, remember; if I get caught; you don't know me." Reagan's tone is serious. "Thank you." Reagan ends the call.

* * *

Reagan's almost there. According to the blue prints her stole she just has the assistant's office and then she's there. Reagan peeks a round another doorway; the personal assistant's desk is empty. Reagan blots it down past the assistant's desk and down the hall; the doors to Mr. Harry Osborn's office are right there. This time instead of peeking thought the doors; she pushes the doors open and runs right in.

The first thing to come to Reagan's mind is 'Holy shit. Why is there so much glass?'

The second thing is 'Where the fuck is the computer?'

Reagan spins around, looking everywhere for the computer and Reagan Knox comes to a conclusion; she is screwed.

Reagan leaps over to the glass ('Really, glass,' she thinks) desk. Sliding into the chair she looks over and all around the desk. Nothing. She slams her hands down on the desk and growls.

Suddenly, the desk lights up. Reagan's hands jump off the desk and she gasps at the unexpected life from the computer. Reagan gathers her wits; she closes her eyes and steadies her breathing. Reagan brings all her focus to the desk, and she pushes with her powers. She can feel it know; the energy this desk outputs. She opens her eyes and scans what is now on the surface of the glass desk. The desk is the computer.

"Now that's just cool," Reagan mumbles.

She's fast to work, hacking in and searching through the information on the desk; looking for the archives. She taps and drags on the desk as fast as she can; she's in her element now. Reagan Knox is completely focused on the task in front of her and is also completely oblivious to everything around her. So, when footsteps echo through the hallway outside of the office; Reagan remains completely unaware.

Reagan is dragged from her trance by an angry, deep voice. Reagan, completely misses what the voice said, but realizes the fact that she has been caught. Her head whips up; Reagan thinks she's lucky it didn't snap.

Pure panic is on Reagan's face as she realizes just who that voice came from.

Harry Osborn is standing not 10 feet away from Reagan with a very livid face. His expression shows that he is expecting something, however, Reagan fails to connect that it is her response he is expecting.

Reagan immediately notices that he is exceptionally skinny and begins to wonder if she could take the brooding male in a fight. However, that train of thought is quickly lost as Harry repeats his question.

"I said; who the hell are you?"

Reagan immediately begins to hyperventilate.

She is in full on panic mode, and doesn't have any near coherent thoughts. The only idea she's somehow mustered up is 'lie. Lie and he won't know the truth.'

"Please don't call security!" Reagan pleas between her wheezes and gasps of air. "I don't wanna go to jail; please don't make me go to jail." She's practically crying now.

There goes not lying. Actually, there goes any and all intelligent sense Reagan had.

There is a brief moment of confusion and terror that occurs in Harry. The young man seems to be unsure of how to handle the stranger who has fallen into an utter mess. He's immediate response to the purple thing that apparently can't form proper English is to call security, although he chooses against it upon seeing that this mascara streaked girl is actually intelligent. It's not easy to access his computer-desk without the proper codes.

"Stop crying." Harry orders. He slowly walks toward the unknown creature, but backs up when she hiccups in what was an attempt to cease the river pouring from her face.

She's stares at him, wide eyed and opened mouth. She's full of fear and looks somewhere between a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar and a wounded animal about to become dinner to a much more powerful predator.

After assessing the situation Harry decides it's better to make the wreck come to him.

"Come here."

Reagan grips the chair and shacks her head.

Harry groans. "I'm not going to call security." "Yet," he adds under his breath.

She is still for a moment; judging whether or not he is lying. Reagan figures that if he's going to call security it doesn't matter if she's sitting down or not. She walks slowly toward him, her arms are in front of her; protecting her, and her hands are at her face; shielding her from his glaze.

He leads her across the room and over to four blue chairs; he motions for her to sit. As Reagan shakes with nerves in the blue chair Harry fills two glasses with alcohol. Harry hands her one glass as he sits across from her.

The male slowly sips his drink and the girl, who is still a little incoherent, guzzles the drink. Only a little actually makes it down her throat; the rest roles down her extended tongue and back into her glass.

With an eye brow raised; Harry stares at her; disgusted by her display.

"Are you less hysterical now? Do you speak English?" He questions the girl.

A hoarse noise that sounds a little like 'yeah' comes from Reagan; Reagan clears her throat and repeats herself.

"Good, I can actually understand you now," He says drily. "Who are you? You obviously don't work for me. None of my employees would come to work in a tie-dye shirt and a plaid button-up over top."

Reagan looks away from him and hides her face behind the glass.

Harry sighs and leans back in his chair; he also lifts his legs up and places them on the table. "I'm not going to call security, so answer my questions."

What could happen if she does? What could happen if she doesn't? This is what Reagan is trying to determine. If she tells him her reason it's not like he's going to say 'okay, go right ahead. And you know what; here's my social security number.' No, that's not going to happen. He's going stick her to the front of Oscrop to ward off any other delinquents. Although, by the way he's eyeing her up, he'll put her in better looking clothes first.

So, what if she remains silent? What happens to her then?

Reagan looks at straight at Harry. She looks at him with defiance; she's testing for his response. He stares right back; meeting her gaze with a challenging one of his own. It's at that moment that Reagan Knox realises she is much more scared of Harry Osborn then what would happen to her in prison, and she is not comfortable with that.

Reagan places her glass down on the small white table; if she's going to face him she might as well do it without a wall.

She takes a deep breath.

Closes her eyes.

Exhales.

And looks Harry Osborn right in the eyes.

"I was hired by an undeclared party to hack into your company and retrieve information regarding animal testing by Oscrop's scientists." Reagan told Harry seriously.

Harry chuckled. "So you're just a lackey to some pissed off hippies. I'm impressed." Harry quips sarcastically; there's a small smirk still on his face.

"I made it all the way up here, didn't I?" Reagan retorts.

Harry's smirk falls and his demeanour turns serious. Harry's eyes turn toward the computer-desk and his fingers begin to roll along the rim of his glass. Harry's gazes then turns to one of his hands; it twitches as he stares. "Yes, you did get up here. And into my computer." He remarks thoughtfully.

Harry quickly puts his glass on the table beside her own and shifts his body so he is leaning over; close to her. "I'd like to hire you-"

"-WHAT?" Reagan yells.

Harry holds up his hand. "Let me finish," Harry says forcefully. "I believe-" Harry lowers his voice. "I believe my board is keeping information from me."

Reagan let's what Harry said roll around in her mind for a minute. She lets herself relax in the blue chair and hums to herself. She briefly wonders if he'll give her his social security number.

"Alright, pretty boy." Harry gives her an aggravated look, but doesn't say anything. "Let me get this right. You want me to hack into your company so you can find out what your board members are hiding from you?" Reagan can't really believe what she's asked for confirmation. It's too surreal.

"Something like that," Harry confirms her question.

"No! That's crazy." Reagan jolts out of her seat. "Do you know how much trouble working for you could cause for me? I'm out of here." However, before Reagan can walk always Harry stops her.

"Sit down, you walking eggplant." Harry commands.

Reagan submissively sits back down in the blue chair. She quickly grabs Harry's drink and sips it; she cringes at the alcohol slides down her throat.

"I have been generous with you so far. But do you know how much trouble not working for me is going to cause you?" His question is rhetorical. "I'm not going to let you just walk out of here. Either you accept or pay the penalty."

Fear seeps back into Reagan. She feels so small; unable to do anything but surrender to Harry Osborn's demand. Harry can see the fear in the physically small girl; he watches as she quivers in her seat. There's a memory that comes to Harry as he watches this girl. A memory of a young boy, just a little bit smaller then her, shivering in fear as the boy's father yells at him.

Harry clears his throat and in a calm voice adds onto his previous statement. "I can make this worth it for you. I can pay you double what your other employer is paying."

At first Reagan doesn't see the appeal. Sure the money would be nice, but it's not like she's living pay cheque to pay cheque. A thought pops into her head though, something that was said to her last week.

_'I also have to worry about the foreclosure letter I got.'_

With the type of money Mr. Osborn is offering Jane wouldn't have to worry about paying rent for a while, a long while.

"And what would I do about my current employers. If I throw them under the bus I'll be the one who's screwed?" Reagan inquires.

"You said they wanted information on animal testing. Give then the tests, not the results. So do we have a deal?" Harry holds out his hand.

Reagan delays for a second as she eyes his hand. Reagan slowly nods and grabs Harry's hand to shake. "We've got a deal."

Harry leans back in his chair and smirks at his new purple haired employee. "Do you have a proper name, eggplant?"

"It's Reagan Knox," Reagan reluctantly tells Harry.

"Pleaser doing business with you, Miss Knox," There's a certain inscrutable tone in his voice.

"You too, Mr. Osborn," Reagan gleamed with pique.

* * *

**Done. Alright guys, please review and tell me what your thoughts are. What you liked, what you didn't, what you thought of Harry, pretty much any thoughts. Thanks everyone!**


	5. An Elevator is Gonna Take Us to Hell

**Finally, it's here. I had no clue where to go with this chapter, but thanks for waiting. On another note; I have 14 follows, 10 favorites, and close to 800 views! Thank you all so much, I had hoped that people would like and want to read this story, but I didn't think a whole lot would. So again, thank you so much.**

**-MrsZayntoews19: Thank you so much for reviewing. I'm really glad you like my story and I'm even more glad you like Harry. I really hope I got this up in time for you to read it before school.**

**-GiraffePanda2: Thanks for reviewing again; it means a lot to me!**

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**An Elevator is Gonna Take Us to Hell**

"You did what!? Do you have a death wish?" Tracey yelled at the curled up hacker on her couch.

The two young women had gone to Tracey's apartment after Reagan's fabulous adventure of CEO office recon. Reagan had refused to tell Tracey about what occurred in Oscorp until they were in the privacy of Tracey's home. That of course pissed Tracey off to no end. When they had arrived at Tracey's home Reagan started to retell the events that had transpired today. When she got to the part about her accepting Harry Osborn's _offer _Tracey more or less lost her shit.

Reagan glared up at Tracey from her ball-like position on the couch. "He gave me an ultimatum. What was I supposed to do?"

Tracey, who was furiously marching around her living room stopped to glare, even more intensely then last time, at Reagan. "How about punching him in the throat and then getting the hell out of dodge," the brunette said through her clenched teeth.

"Are you forgetting that I was still caught by the security camera and I had set it up to look like I was supposed to be there? I would have been found, charged, and lock up in less than a day."

"Still, how could you be so stupid?" Tracey's blue eyes searched Reagan's grey ones.

Reagan curled even tighter into herself and shot her head down; making it apparent that she was done having this conversation.

Tracey let out a load muffled yell and fell down on the opposite end of the couch.

The tension was thick between the best friends as they both childishly pouted. Every so often one or the other would glare across the couch at the other. For the longest time they just sat there, like angry children in a time out. This went on for longer than either of their prides would allow them to admit.

Their childish pout-fest was finally ended when both parties turned to the other and asked "wine?"

Now with wine the two girls had silently agreed to ignore their argument and resume their conversation.

"So after we shook hands he gave me access to the archives and told me to start looking-"

"-Wait," Tracey cut Reagan off. "What did he have you looking for?"

"All he said was '_Bring anything suspicious to my attention'." _Reagan mocked in a deep voice.

Tracey gave her a look that said 'really'.

"Yeah, those were his exact words. Anyway, I spent the rest of my time on my laptop getting to know the archives while he creepily watched me every five minutes. I think he thought I was going to run away or something." Reagan finished her story.

"It sounds like you had a very pleasant day getting to know our – wow, _our_ – new boss."

Reagan smiled with fake joy.

Tracey's lips grew into a mischievous grin and her eyes became playful. "So, tell me, Reagan. What do you think of our young new boss?"

Reagan gave Tracey a dry look. "Harry Osborn? He's an asshole," Reagan deadpanned.

"Is that all? I could have told you he was an asshole and I've never meet the guy."

Reagan raised a playful eyebrow. "That's really all there is to him; he's just an asshole, through and though." Reagan paused and then added a little more seriously. "He's demanding, angry, a bit of a cock, and kind of scary…did I mention he's an asshole?"

The girls chuckled.

"So are you sure you're describing our boss and not one of your exes?" Tracey taunted.

Reagan's face went from carefree to lethal. Reagan's passed beaus are not a subject she enjoys, and whenever it is brought up the instigator of the topic immediately receives Reagan's wrath.

"New topic," Reagan demanded.

Tracey didn't listen; she likes this topic. "On a scale of boiling to scalding how hot do you rate him-"

"-I swear I will dump my wine on your sofa. Reagan tipped her wine glass so the liquid was almost at the rim.

Tracey held up her hands and yelled an urgent and fearful no. Reagan lifted her eyebrows and teased the liquid in the glass, tipping the glass slightly over and then bringing it back, only to repeat. All the while Reagan teased Tracey by saying 'ahh, ahhhh, ah.'

"Alright, just put the wine glass down." Tracey said as if she were soothing a wild animal.

Reagan gave Tracey a smug smile and tossed back the rest of her wine, but that ended with the purple haired dope in a coughing fit.

Tracey leaned back on the couch and smirked. "Smooth," she spoke under her breath.

The two spent the rest of their evening watching a movie (the original plan was for a romance, but Reagan would have none of that. She also declined to watch a con movie.) . The girls ended up settling on _Shaun of the Dead._

There's nothing like ending a stressful day at the office with blood, guts, and beheadings.

* * *

Once classes were done for the day Reagan began, rather reluctantly, toward Oscorp for her second day of joyous work. There she would happily comply with her supreme overlord. Sorry; _generous boss_.

When she gets there she'll have to endure that same generous attitude, from the '_oh so' _generous walking-daddy-issue, she also have to endure generous shouts that come from his generous face. Generous and Harry Osborn do not belong in the same sentence, and there is nothing that can convince Reagan otherwise.

Actually, there is nothing anyone can do to convince her that he is a swell guy, and not a self-absorbed asshole.

He is an asshole…an asshole that she has to work closely with for who-the-hell-knows-how-long!

What if it's contagious? Is being an asshole made? Or is one born an asshole?

Now, the whole time this was going on in Reagan's head; she had abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking and pissing off everyone on that street.

So, apparently people _are_ just simply born an asshole.

* * *

Without any more distractions Reagan had made it to Oscorp, but she was late. Harry had given her a specific time to come and start working (commit a crime. Sort of.), and she was so distracted by the specifics of being an asshole that she lost track of time. Hopefully Mr. Osborn won't notice that little indiscretion.

Reagan quickly glides through the entrance, slipping her new employee card that Harry gave her through the machine. As soon as Reagan was done there she was off again, and this time she got to use the elevator. Reagan remarks to herself on how odd it feels to be able to freely go throughout the build without worrying about being caught.

Right as the elevator doors are about to close, with Reagan inside, an arm catches the door. A nerdy, dark skinned man steps through the now opened doors to join Reagan in the elevator. The man gives a nervous, but kind smile to Reagan, and she returns it with an equally awkward and nice smile.

The man turned to Reagan; she could see a little confusion in his eyes.

"Um, I don't think I've ever seen you before. I mean, there are a lot of people who work here and I certainly don't know all of them personal and I can't say that I've seen them all, but someone with your hair would not be easy to forget." The nerdy man said to her. There was no question in his sentence, but there was a question behind his words and in his eyes.

'Oh shit, what was I thinking about not worrying?' Reagan mental asked herself. "Okay, what did Mr. Osborn tell me to say it I got asked who I was? Great, now I'm screwed because I was being stubborn and didn't listen to him. Ugh, I can't remember, crap, shit, what was it?' Reagan panicked in her mind.

Reagan realized she had been silent for too long, she looked over to the man. He was staring at her. His eyebrows were meting each other in the middle of his forehead. Reagan stared back at him with wide eyes.

"I'm, ah, um." She paused. "I'm interning for college credits!" Reagan's voice jumped as she remembered what Mr. Osborn had told her.

The man's face softened and he smiled at her again. Reagan could see that he had a gap in his teeth.

"Well, let me welcome you to the team. I'm Max; an electrical engineer." Max was a little awkward when speaking, but he still had a kind overlay in his voice. Although he was kind, Reagan could detect a slight twinge in Max's voice when he had said 'team'. Max sounded a little bitter, and with the way Reagan had been treated so far she understands why.

"Thank you, Max. I haven't really received a warm welcome since I got here." She smiled warmly at Max. "I'm Reagan, by the way." Reagan held out her hand for Max.

Max fumbled with some folders in his hands before he finally got a hand free to shake Reagan's extended hand. It surprised Reagan how strong his handshake was; she had expected the handshake to be loses and even a bit sweaty but it wasn't. It was unexpectedly strong.

Reagan's dad had always told her that you can tell a lot about a person's true character by the way they shake hands. Take Harry Osborn's: it was firm (he held himself well), and the hand shake certainly didn't linger, but it wasn't quick (professional, like he had years of practice). With Max's hand shake Reagan could tell that there was a strong man underneath the awkward, nerdy one.

Max and Reagan's hands broke apart and the two went into an awkward silence. Reagan rocked on her hills and Max tapped on the folders in his hands. They were saved from their uncomfortable post-meeting by Max announcing his floors approaching arrival.

"Well, it was good meeting you," Reagan politely told him.

"You as well," Max responded.

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Max moved to the open door, but turned back to face the bottle purple.

"Good luck, you may need it here," Max advised before continuing out the door.

"Thanks, Max," Reagan said as the doors closed.

Reagan was now alone in the elevator, and the silence was deafening to her. She was in a metal contraption and it was raising her to hell. It felt as though the glass fogged with her hot and deep breaths; clouding her vision. She couldn't see out of the box and she couldn't escape the box. Reagan tried to reach out with her powers, and the waves of energy rode passed her. Reagan could hear the untouchable energy, it laughed at her. It always did.

The elevator stopped and the door opened, ushering Reagan back to earth. Reagan took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Right, onward," she murmured.

* * *

Reagan thought if she sneaked in Mr. Osborn wouldn't notice. So, as lightly as she could, Reagan slid into the CEO office. She caught sight of her moody boss sitting at his desk; his head was down, facing his computer-desk. From what Reagan could see he was focused on his work, and hopefully he was too engrossed in his work to notice her. She continued on her way and she breached the threshold.

"You're late," Harry said; a little ticked.

Reagan abruptly stopped and stared at Harry. 'He didn't even look up,' she thought.

"I was – there was a – see, it was – nothing. I don't have an excuse." She told him honestly.

"Don't let it happen again, Miss Knox." Harry warned. "Now get to work."

Reagan nodded to her boss and moved to one of the two black sofas across from the desk. Reagan pulled out her laptop and started it up. As she waited for the laptop to finish she looked over to Harry, she hid her face in her hair, so not to be seen by her boss.

He was leaning on his desk with an elbow and the hand that belonged to the elbow was holding up his head. He's head was balancing on his fingers which were placed on his temple. He's posture was tense, shoulders hunched and stiff. Harry's jaw was also clenched and his eyes burned into what was in front of him. Reagan also noticed that he was dressed a little more casual today; he was in a white t-shirt with a navy blazer over top. On the bottom he wore grey khakis and a simple pair of black dress shoes.

Reagan could see the restless look on his face, and in her mind he could use a little distraction. However, also in her mind she thought 'let the ass hole suffer.' Although that's the complete opposite of what she did.

She began to stand up from her seat on the black couch and walked towards him, her reasoning being that her laptop still needed to start up. Reagan had failed to notice thought that her laptop had started up a while ago and she had been stuck staring for longer then she thought.

Her oxfords clopped as she neared him, letting out an even sound in the dead silent office. Reagan wasn't sure what she was going to say to him when she got there, so instead she focused on the clopping of her heels.

She stopped a couple feet away from his desk and waited for him to look at her. Harry had glanced up once, but ignored her and elected not to look the waiting girl in the eyes. Reagan contemplated turning around and leaving the asshole to himself, but she found that her feet didn't feel like listening to her brain and they just stood in place. So she took a chance.

Reagan cleared her throat before speaking and this time Harry Osborn did look her in the eyes.

"What are you working on?" She asked.

Harry took a moment to answer her, and that whole moment was spent looking straight at Reagan. Now she was the thing in front of him that his stare was burning.

"Don't you have work, Miss Knox?" He shot her a question right back.

"I do, sir. I'm just waiting for my computer." She fumbled with her worlds.

Harry glanced toward her laptop. "Actually, I think your computer is waiting for you, Miss Knox."

Reagan turned her gaze to her laptop, then to the floor between him and her, and finally back to him.

"It would seem so." Reagan paused to swallow. "Mr. Osborn, my work would go by _much _faster if I knew more precisely what I was looking for."

Harry cupped his hands together and placed them on the desk, he then leaned forward, placing part of his upper body on the desk. He gave her a smile, not a nice smile, or a mocking one. It was a more fake smile, like a smile one uses when they have had enough, but are still trying to be presentable.

"You're a smart woman, Miss Knox. You'll figure it out." The end of his sentence was done in the same tone of voice as when he was 'giving her a choice.' Harry turned his head back down to his work and resumed ignoring Reagan.

Reagan stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Obviously Mr. Osborn wants as little interaction with her as possible. Reagan couldn't really blame him. In all honestly she wouldn't want to interact with herself on what is soon to be a near daily basis.

Reagan was going to give up and walk back to her work when something caught her eye. On Mr. Osborn's desk was a laser etched crystal cube. The laser etching was of a DNA strand. It was really pretty, and Reagan found herself drawn to it. Against her better judgement she picked it up and turned it around in her hands to get a better look at it. Harry looked back up at her, with question and a little irritation.

"This wasn't here last time," Reagan observed. "It's really beautiful. Where'd you get?" The whole time Reagan spoke her attention was on the crystal.

It seemed this topic distracted Harry more than the last, for he had moved his attention and gaze away from his work and onto the crystal as well.

"It's a 'gift'." Harry said gift with a sarcastic tone. "It's sort of a 'sorry your dads' dead, but, hey, you own a company now.' Harry raised his hands in a mocking motion at the word 'hey'.

"Sounds like someone sent this with the intent of wanted something," Reagan committed.

Harry smirked and let out a humorous huff. "They did. Trask Industries sent it; they want a partnership."

Without even a moment's hesitation Reagan let the crystal slid from her hand and drop to the floor. It broke upon impact. The shards lay around her feet.

Reagan's gaze was hard as she looked Mr. Osborn in the eyes. "Ops," she said bitterly.

Harry leaned over his desk to view the pieces of the crystal; he then sat as far back in his chair as it would allow him too. He placed his folded hands across his middle and raised both eyebrows at the seething girl in front of him.

"Accidents happen, I suppose," was what came out of Mr. "Don't-Piss-Me-Off" Osborn.

Reagan was surprised by what he had said and her grey eyes turned from anger to confusion.

"Trask Industries thinks it can take advantage of me because of my young age and inexperience." Harry told her in a matter of fact tone.

"Oh, well. Then it's a good thing I broke it. Let them know who's in charge…or something." Reagan mumbled awkwardly.

Harry just smirked at her.

Reagan nodded and turned to walk back to her work. As she walked she thought about how she liked his dimples and would like to see them more. 'Opposed to his grumpy frown; which kind of scares me', she added in her mind.

At the same time Harry was watching her walk away, with a (slightly) goofy smirk and the thought that _maybe_ he was warming up to her. 'She has, what do old people call it? Spunk?' He thought as she sat down and began her work.

For the rest of the day Harry Osborn was a smidge less irritable.

* * *

**Done another one. Please review and tell me what you think. Also feel free to PM me. Have a good last week or so of summer!**


	6. Unacceptable Conversations with the Folk

**I'm sorry this took such a long time. You all know how life is; especially when school is starting. Also, I had written part of this chapter and decided I didn't like it, so I scrapped it and rewrote it.**

**On another note 25 followers and 16 favs! I love you guys and I'm so thankful.**

**-****GiraffePanda2: You're right; Reagan is being too harsh on Harry, but that's the point. Reagan is childish and she can be quick to judge. She wants to see Harry as the enemy; so she does. I glad that you mentioned it though, it makes me feel like I'm doing a not too bad job and this whole writing thing. Thanks for reading and reviewing, I love to hear what you think.**

**-Entermagicalrealms: I'm very glad you enjoy my story. Here's the update; sorry it took so long.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 6:  
Unacceptable Conversations with the Folks**

The next couple days passed painfully for Reagan, day-after-day of seeing, not to mention actually interacting, with Harry Osborn is not what Reagan Knox considers an ideal week. It's not even what she considers an ideal day. But nonetheless, she faithfully complied with Harry Osborn and her schedule he so wonderfully made for her. Although Reagan would never admit it, the week hadn't been as bad as she thought it would go. Harry was still evasive and moody, and Reagan still very much disliked him. However, things between the two of them went…not smoothly, per se. More: unproblematic. The week was awkward for the two; they had almost-conversations with minimal glaring. There was one point where they got nearly sociable with each other. That conversation went somewhat like this:

_Reagan: Morning._

_Harry: Morning._

The two really didn't talk much, as long as Reagan did what Harry paid her for; he didn't have any reason to say anything, and as long as Harry didn't say anything she did what he hired her for.

The incident with the DNA etched crystal was never mentioned again and for that Reagan was thankful. She couldn't imagine revealing the reason she has a problem with Trask is because of their standing opinion of mutants would keep her own mutation under wraps. That little fact about her is not something she would willingly disclose to anyone, let alone the adolescent owner of a major corporation. The idea of trusting Harry enough with her secret makes Reagan outwardly laugh. The only person she's told is Tracey, Reagan hasn't even told her parents. There is no way she could ever trust Harry Osborn with her being a mutant; telling Harry would be giving him her life. There is no reason in hell he should have that kind of power over her. There is no way in hell he will ever have that kind of power over her.

These thoughts coupled with the unholy hour Reagan had awoke because of a headache, made Reagan want to crawl back into bed and come out after the apocalypse has passed. However, because of the guy playing the raging bass drum inside her head she's finding it difficult to move from her place in the kitchen to her bed. Or any other surface acceptable to pass out on.

Although they didn't come often this wasn't the first time she'd gotten a headache like this, but she'd only ever had five or six ones like this. Five or six times in her life where it felt like her brain was slowly ripping apart and imploding at the same time, and every stupid time it affected her powers, or her power affected it; she didn't know; just that every time these headaches happen her powers go crazy.

Lights flicker, the radio turns on by itself, she can't even go near her laptop without it going berserk, files and webpages opening, stuff downloading, and notes being written. Once, after one of these killer headaches, Reagan found a note on her laptop that said '_It hurts, it hurts. Please stop; everything hurts.'_

The worst part is the energy signatures she senses from anything technological based. The energy pounds against her, it invades her mind and her senses. The waves of energy take over Reagan and leave no room for her own control. It's like she's drowning and every time she tries to gasp for air her lungs only fill with more water. She's unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to think anything beyond the pain. All Reagan can do is sit with her head in her hands, tears on her cheeks, and cries on her lips.

The painful, hair-tearing migraine lasts for more than a couple hours. By the time the thrashing in Reagan's head eases enough for her to gain control of her body again its well passes afternoon.

Reagan places the empty coffee mug she's been gripping on to all day in the sink; if she were stronger there would probably be cracks in it.

Reagan then pulls open the fridge door and grabs the box of leftover pizza. The box is cold, but the coldness is welcoming to her nerves. She drags her feet as she wobbles over to her couch and just kind of stumbles onto it. Like a zombie Reagan begins devouring the cold, lifeless pizza, with even more lifelessness.

"If I were stronger," Reagan sarcastically remarks to herself.

If she were stronger she'd actually be able to control her powers, use them, understand them, and she would be able to connect with all living technology. Anytime. Not just when she gets out of control, avalanche migraines, if she were stronger she wouldn't get migraines! If she were stronger – but she's not. She's weak and she's powerless and her life is going nowhere and she's stuck working for a snobby kid and – and the phones ringing.

Reagan doesn't even move; she just sits there and waits for the energetic theme of the _Power Rangers _to stop. When it does Reagan still doesn't move. The apartment is still for a moment; then the same energetic them that filled the apartment moments ago is back. Reagan grunts and rolls off the couch, then drags herself to where her phone is charging in the kitchen. Oh shit; it's her parents.

"Hey, mom and dad," Reagan greets.

_"Why didn't you pick up the first time? What happened? Are you okay? Oh my god! You're sick, aren't you? That's it, Susan! We are going to her right now."_

Reagan rolled her eyes at her father's frantic raving.

_"Lou, she's probably alright. We can't go gallivanting off to her every time she doesn't answer her phone."_ The more reasonable voice of Reagan's mother came through the phone.

_"AND WHY NOT?!"_ Her father yelled.

Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and Susan Knox, or as they like to call themselves Lou and Sue; they're adorable that way. Susan is obviously the more level-headed one in the relationship; where Lewis has a tendency to be a catastrophic mess.

"Dad, I'm fine. I just couldn't get to the phone fast enough," Reagan lied.

"_Sweetie, he can't hear you. He has the emergence duffel bag out," _Susan told her daughter. "_Lou, she's alright. Now get back over here."_

There was some shuffling and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor from Lou and Sue's side of the call.

"_Alright; I'll sit down, but I'm keeping the emergence bag with me," _Lewis stated firmly.

"_How are you? Is the Big Apple treating you right?" _Reagan's mother inquired.

"I'm doing alright." Lie. "The Big Apple has been very kind; it's been showering me with its sweet nectar of kindness." Reagan managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"_We're really glad you enjoy it there-"_

"-_Yes; so far away from us." _Lewis cut off Susan.

Reagan heard the sound of her mother slapping her father's arm.

"_Sorry about your father. You know how he likes to worry," _Susan reassured Reagan. "_So, are there any nice boys, dear?_

_"We stress the word 'nice'," _Lewis added.

"No nice ones," Reagan mumbled under her breath.

"_What was that?" _Lewis asked his daughter_._

Reagan sighed. "No boys, daddy."

"_And you don't need one. No matter what you mother says."_

_"What?" _Susan asked more to no one then to her husband._ "I like the way she smiles when she's got someone."_

_"They make her smile, and then they make her cry." _Lewis told his wife in a serious tone.

"Enough!" Reagan yelled. "New topic," she added.

There was a small huff from Susan.

"_Well, how is your job?" _Susan asked.

"Great," Reagan said dryly.

"_I heard what happened to Mr. Osborn. It's been all over the news, and now his son is in charge." _Susan informed her daughter.

"Yeah; I meet him."

"You did!?" Both Reagan's parents asked with interest.

'Oh shit,' Reagan thought.

"He – he just had some technical issues and questions. I was just the one who got sent up," Reagan lied. The whole time thinking about the landmine she just set.

"_That must have been exciting." _Susan had always been a little gleeful when well-known important people were involved. "_What's he like?" _Susan couldn't contain her excitement at all.

"He's an asshole," Reagan replied without pausing.

"_REAGAN!"_

_"I knew it!."_

Her parents yelled at the same time. They were so loud Reagan had to hold the phone away from her, and she's pretty sure she heard her father slam his fist down on a table as he declared his opinion on the young and blonde and I-don't-know-how-to-have-fun CEO.

When Reagan brought the phone back to her ear she heard an irritated huff from her mom.

"_You can't just say that about people," _her mother scolded her.

"Well, it's true," grumbled Reagan.

"_Reagan." _Susan paused. "_His father just died, and he just had the responsibility of running a company suddenly handed – no; suddenly pushed onto him. Think about what he's going through."_

"_I don't know, Sue. That boy just has that vibe about him…" _Lewis drew the last word on. _"You should think about what he's going through," _Lewis urgently told his daughter.

"Fine," Reagan pouted.

_"And don't you start fixating on this guy-"_

"-DAD!" Reagan yelled.

_"Don't you dad me. I've meet your boyfriends, I know what kind of guys you like."_

This conversation continued with Lewis shooting off details of Reagan's passed relationships and Reagan only responding with 'dad' in various tones. Eventually this topic veered onto other subjects and Reagan and her parents talk until evening.

* * *

**Well there you guys go, a nice short chapter, although all my chapters are short...**

**Thanks so much for reading guys. I'd really love to hear what you guys have to say. Also because of some stuff this might be my last chapter for Sept, so I'm really sorry that its a short one. Have a good rest of Sept!**


	7. O' Carousel of Wisdom

**So, if I thought you actually cared about why I haven't updated in over a month I'd tell ya. Although I did make this my longest chapter to date as a sort of a sorry.**

**Thanks to everyone who followed, faved, reviewed, read, and pretty much just stuck with me.**

**-GiraffePanda2 and Cassie-D1: Thank you two so much for reviewing. It means a lot that you took the time to do so.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 7:  
O' Carousel of Wisdom**

Reagan let out a wide yawn as she walks down the hallway to Harry's office. She's drowsy and it's ridiculously early. So ridiculously early that Mr. Sun has hardly said good morning. This was the second morning in a row that Reagan had gotten up before the sun, and Reagan couldn't live this life. She was not made for this life; she was made for waking in the late morning and late nights watching Game of Thrones and Firefly. Reagan yawned again as she walked around a corner, however, she miss judged where the corner was and hit the wall with her shoulder. The force of hitting the wall made Reagan stumble back; wide eyed she caught herself and huffed before matching forward. He hated her, that's all there was to it. Nobody makes people get up this early unless they hate them.

Reagan continued to march her way into her boss's office, when she got through the doorway her vision was hit with a bright light. For the second time that day Reagan stumbled backwards, and as her did she let out a strange mix between a yell and an odd arrangement of letters that sounded something like "Glaah."

When Harry heard the bizarre sound from the startled girl, he looked up from the tablet in his hands and turned around in his chair to face her. Reagan was slowly walking into the room, shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight with her hand.

Harry smirked a bit then turned his eyes back down to the tablet.

"This whole office is controlled remotely through this tablet and I can't seem to figure out how to dim these big ass windows," Harry seethed through his teeth. He was tapping the tablet over and over with no result and each tap only made him more frustrated.

By now Reagan had made her way behind the desk to stand beside her boss. The short girl picked over Harry's shoulder to get a look at the tablet's screen. Reagan studied the tablet for a moment before putting her hand out to Harry. Harry looked up at her then down at her hand, after a moment Harry placed the tablet into her outstretched hand. Reagan fiddled with that tablet; all the while she could feel icy blue eyes on her. Reagan was tempted to glance down and catch that stare with her own; however, the fear of looking straight into those eyes was too great. Though, Reagan could see from the corner of her own grey eyes that those pricing ones never left her. She couldn't decipher the meaning in those eyes.

Reagan was getting a little warm, she was sure it was the blaring sun and not her boss's intense gaze. The stubborn woman refused to believe that the redness spreading from her neck upwards had anything to do with her boss.

The hacker found the right settings to dim the windows and she cleared her throat as she held the tablet back to Harry. Harry took the tablet from her hand, but his gaze didn't leave her. Reagan still couldn't meet his eyes or interpret his look. She ran her hand through her hair and turned to watch the windows dim, a moment latter Harry moved his stare off her and followed her turn to the windows.

The two were silent as they watched the windows dimmed. They could now see, without squinting, the sun rising over the vast sea of buildings. It was a calming moment for Reagan, and that worried her. She had never felt this calm in Harry Osborn's presence. She turned her gaze down to look at her boss. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossing and one leg propped up on the other with his ankle resting on his knee. Reagan continued to stare at her boss, wondering why she didn't feel uneasy.

Harry slowly turned his head away from the windows and towards the girl who was now staring at him. He raised his eyebrow at her as he caught her gaze with his own.

Reagan's expression turned into a panicked one. 'Goodbye to that feeling of ease,' she sarcastically remarked to herself. Reagan was fishing in her head for something to say that would make this less awkward.

"It's on a timer!" She blurted out her first thought. She internally winced at her stupidity.

Harry tilts his head and his eyebrows furrow together. He looks at her confused and begins silently mouthing the word 'what'.

Reagan rolled her eyes at herself and shut them tightly. She opened her eyes and took a long breath in. "The windows," she gestured her hand at the large wall of glass. "I put them on a timer, they'll slowly…lighten?...undim?...themselv – what would the opposite of dim be in this situation?" She cut herself off to ask Harry.

Harry shrugged, "you got me."

"Anyway they'll," Reagan gestured wildly with her hands. "Themselves throughout the next hour," she finished.

A large open-mouth smile grew on Harry's face; he shook his head at the ground before standing up. Harry slid his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. Harry teetered forward into Reagan's personal space, he was sanding at her side by she shoulder. He stood around a head above her and if he leaned forward a couple inches his head would be resting on hers. Harry stared down at Reagan; he still had that shit-eating grin on his face.

Reagan was held captive by his stern gaze and wide smile. Her breath was hitching and she was almost shaking. Reagan had though she would never be this close to Harry, and she surly never thought he would willingly get this close to her.

"Fascinating, Miss Knox," Harry quipped, barely above a whisper.

Reagan gritted her teeth and adjusted her body so her arms were crossed, she was leaning on the desk, and her gaze was no longer on Harry. At this Harry begins to chuckle thought a closed-mouth smile. Reagan refused to look at the bastard; she just stood there with her teeth clenched and a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

Harry shifted his position to match his companions.

They stood close together, just a little further and their shoulders would be touching. They both watched the sun with grins on their faces, His slightly bigger than hers.

Reagan leaned her head a little over to Harry, when Harry noticed he turned his own head toward her.

"Not that the view isn't beautiful, but why are there so many windows?" Reagan asks frustrated.

"Probable so my father could look down on the lower class," Harry deadpanned.

Reagan looked at him curiously.

"My father liked to be above people, I think it made him feel powerful," He told her.

"My father liked to sit in a swivel chair and turn around to glare at my dates and tell them 'sit down son,'" Reagan lowered her voice to try and imitate her dad. "That's how he felt powerful."

Harry just looked at her, blank faced.

"I should get to work," Reagan squeaked and walked away.

Harry followed her.

"Are you..." Harry tried to find the right words. "Are you doing alright?"

Reagan turns around to look at him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, I was under the impression that you'd rather eat your own liver then spend your time here – working for me. It's just that you're not so tense."

Reagan looked to her feet. "Well, I don't know about my liver, I mean some body part yeah, but not my liver." She chuckles. Then in a more serious tone adds, "I had a call from my parents last night we talked about you –"

"What!" Harry yelled.

"Oh shit!" Reagan yelled as she fell on to the couch back first. "Why do I keep doing that? I didn't mean to mention to my parents that I met you; it just slipped out." She moaned. She then quickly shot up; looking at Harry she began speaking rapidly. "I didn't tell them anything, they think I work in Tech Support and I just told them that you had computer trouble and I was the one who got sent up. That's all I told them! That and I told them I think you're an asshole – fuck!" She fell back onto the couch.

Harry hadn't said anything since the beginning of her rant, but Reagan could hear his footsteps getting further away. There were some soft sounds coming from the direction he had just gone. Reagan had not looked away from the ceiling and she didn't really want to, seeing the expression on Harry's face was not something she was over the moon for.

Reagan could hear Harry's footsteps coming closer, and from the corner of her eye she saw him sit down on the table with something in both hands.

She still didn't look at him when he began speaking.

"Are you sure they don't know anything? Because I don't want anyone to know about our arrangement any more then you do. If my board found out that I hired an independent party to investigate Oscorp they would flambé me."

Without turning her stare away from the ceiling Reagan answered him nonchalantly, "I'm sure you wouldn't mind the first part – being drenched in liquor. You know, with you being a borderline alcoholic."

"Were you dropped on your head as a child, and now when you start saying things you shouldn't you're unable to stop?" Harry asked with a twinge of anger in his voice.

Reagan sat up straight and finally looks at Harry. Her eyes went wide at the two take-away coffee cups in his hands; nonetheless she painstakingly rips her eyes away from the heavenly nectar and up to his face.

"They know nothing of my illegal pursuits. I have made sure of that, Mr. Osborn," Reagan explained in totally seriousness.

Harry just nodded.

"My assistant has a meeting at Stark Industries for most of the morning and afternoon, so she brought my coffee in early. I asked for two." He gestured toward the coffee cups in his hands. "I don't know what you take in your coffee so it's just-"

"-Pure?" she cut him off with wide pleading eyes.

"Black," he finished hesitantly.

Harry handed the coffee to Reagan and she eagerly took it from him. As she took her first sip she moaned and let her head roll back.

She felt a dip in the couch beside her as Harry switched places from the table.

It was awkward to say the least. How the two of them just sat there, sipping their coffees in silence. They refused to look at each other.

Every so often Reagan could feel Harry shift in his seat, she could also see, from her peripherals; Harry would reach his hand up to his neck, but then change his mind and draw his hand back.

Harry clears his throat; which draws Reagan's attention away from her thoughts to the person they were about.

They meet each other's gaze and Reagan looks at him expectedly.

"I have something I need you to do," Harry tells her.

Reagan's demeanour jumps up a bit. "Is that why you're being so nice and chatty?" She asks with fight.

Harry doesn't respond.

Reagan gives the young CEO a knowing look.

Ignoring her, Harry continues speaking, "I found something interesting in one of the reports you gave me."

Reagan nods.

"The report was by a lab technician. He helped my father and a Dr. Parker with some cross-species genetic experiments."

"I remember that one, but the guy was very vague about everything." There was an unspoken question in Reagan's statement.

"I suspect that was on request of my father. Do you remember the other report mentioned, the one done by Dr. Parker?" Harry questioned.

Reagan nods again.

"Good. Find it." Harry firmly demanded before getting up and walking away from the stunned hacker. "And no questions, Miss Knox."

Reagan puffed up her checks and let out all the air with a push, the escaping air made a sound. She also enlarged her eyes and clenched her jaw. With frustrated motions Reagan complied with her master.

* * *

It had been a while since Reagan begun her search for the report, and with the little she had so go on it was proving to be difficult. It also didn't help that her boss was being antsy, but then again when is he not? Every now and then Reagan could hear his fingers tapping or the scrape of his chair turning.

Because of how little Reagan knows about the report she's searching for she has to shuffle through file after file. It doesn't help that Oscorp uses such a complicated index for labelling and sorting their crap. She just can't seem to decipher the method used, and it's giving her a headache. There was also the constant clicking of a pen by her boss; no doubt intended to annoy her.

"Have you found the report yet?" His annoyed voice interrupted his pen thrashing.

Without looking up from her laptop Reagan answered him. "This isn't The Google. I can't just push some keys and find 'How to Get a Real Job.'" The last part was said with intense sarcasm.

"Well, if you could hurry up over there you could hurry up and get yourself one," Harry said with fake civility.

"Dick," Reagan mumbled under her breath.

Harry cleared his throat. Loud, and obviously trying to catch the hacker's attention.

"Is there something you'd care to share with the rest of the class, Miss Knox?" Her name was almost a threat on his lips.

Reagan looked at him and grinned wickedly, "I'm pretty sure there isn't enough to go around, Mr. Osborn." Harry's own name was said with force and detest from the purple haired female.

The two of them glared at each other from across the office, they were challenging the other. However, nothing was said; with words at least.

Reagan, in a sick spite, stops searching for the requested file and begins her own report for her other more silent and unseen employer.

* * *

Reagan packed her laptop and threw her bag over her shoulder, she begun stomping to the door of the CEO office, when she was just at the doorway, without turning around she yelled to her boss, "I'm going to lunch; I'll be back in an hour."

He indicated no response.

* * *

At the fast food place around the corner from Oscorp Reagan violently ripped her burger apart and murderously stabbed her salad for nearly an hour. For once Tracey didn't feel the overwhelming need to know.

* * *

Reagan alerted Harry to her arrival by aggressively throwing herself onto the couch. With his eyes only he looked up to her, but then quickly lowered them.

As much as she didn't want to Reagan continued with her earlier orders from her boss.

* * *

It was more than a couple hours later when the barrier of silence the two had crated was broken. The sun was still up, although it would begin setting within the next hour or two, and it was clear that the two occupants of the office were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to leave. That is why when Harry spoke the words that broke the unspoken barrier Reagan didn't protest to them.

"You may go home for tonight, Miss Knox."

As quickly as she could Reagan leaped up and pushed her belongings in her bag. She wasn't planning on saying anything to Harry, but the thought just popped up in her head and then it popped out of her mouth.

"Would you like me to curtsy before I leave?" She asked, almost not believing what came from her lips.

Harry huffed and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Leave," he forced through his teeth.

And she did.

* * *

Reagan was so furious that all she could do was blindly walk about the city; kicking things and letting out profanities. She wasn't sure how long she had been storming about Manhattan, nor did she care, all she really cared about was how much she wished she hadn't taking the stupid job. She should have run for the hills when she realized the job would involve braking into Oscorp. She just had to be foolish.

Reagan was brought out of her blind rage by the familiar sound of her phone.

"Hello?" She snapped.

"Uhh…hi, Reagan," Jane: Reagan's upstairs neighbour answered a bit taken back.

'Shit,' Reagan cursed at herself. "Jane, hi," Reagan spoke aloud. "Sorry about that; ruff day and all. Is there something you need?"

Reagan menial slapped herself for yelling at her friend.

"Actually, there is. I have no bread to make the kid's lunch with and it's too late for me to run to the store now, so I was wondering if, maybe, you could go?" Jane sounded hopeful and very tired.

"Sure. I'm not near the building so I'll be a bit."

Reagan could hear the sound of Jane's two youngest having argument.

"Thank you so much, Reagan. I own you," Jane was distracted as she thanked Reagan.

No doubt by her kids Reagan thinks.

"Go tend to your kids, Jane."

Jane let out a tired laugh. "I will," she sighed.

* * *

"Did someone order bread?" Reagan said as Jane opened the door.

Reagan was leaning in the door way with the bag of bread held high in one hand. Jane greeted Reagan with a friendly hug before informing Reagan that her two youngest were in the bath and she needed to get back to them.

Once she had left Josh lead Reagan into the house and took the bread from her. Reagan had suggested they make the lunches for tomorrow, to help Jane out, and Josh keenly agreed.

Josh was laying out the bread and Reagan was slathering then pieces with mayonnaise when Josh asked her what was wrong?

"What do you mean, kiddo?" Reagan asked, trying to sound unaware.

"Mom said you sounded tense on the phone."

Reagan raised her eyebrow at her little companion.

"She said I had to be extra nice," he told her.

Reagan giggled. "So instead you decided to play phycologist?"

Josh had his face in the fridge getting sliced tomatoes when he answered her with a quiet "maybe".

Reagan asked him to toss her the ham, which she didn't catch.

She kept silent for a minute, fighting inside herself to keep from telling the kid about her day. She lost, though. With a sigh she slapped some ham down on to the bread.

"It's just…" She started. "I thought I'd at least try and be nice, you know? I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt and try not thinking of him as an ass – jer – mean person. I said 'mean person' and if you tell your mother otherwise so help me. Anyway, I thought he was being nice to me too, warming up to me or something. And it turns out he was only being nice to get something!" Reagan slapped ham down on the last piece of bread and growled.

Josh opened his mouth to say something, but Reagan cut him off.

"Why do people do that, huh? Why do they expect something or use you? What kind of person feels the need to do that?" Reagan could feel her tears welling up at the corner of her eyes.

The events of the whole day came out of Reagan then, but not in tears, no. In rage and in fire, and in all the pain she felt. Every time she had been lied to or betrayed came bubbling to the surface of her memories, and at the top was Harry Osborn. He was festering in her mind, and rotting every feeling she had. He was a disease to her body, infecting her and filling her with loathing.

"A person with a lot of pain in their past."

Those words from the little boy broke her. Diseases aren't supposed to feel pain; they're supposed to give pain. You're not supposed to feel sympathy for a diseases, yet here she is wondering what happened to Harry that made him act the way he does. Crap, now she can't stop feeling sympathy for him.

"Never ask a kid for advice," Reagan muttered to herself. "Come on, let's finish these sandwiches."

* * *

"_Let me get this straight_," Tracey voice sounded exhausted through the phone.

A very upset Reagan was walking down a street in Brooklyn; she had previously told Tracey her reason for going to Brooklyn.

_"You're in Brooklyn because you're mad at your boss, the guy you hate, because he gave you the day off. Am I right?"_ Tracey clearly done with Reagan's shit.

"Yes! I was pretty much at Oscorp when he called and told me "don't come in today." He's is so frustrating, and rude, and inconsiderate!" Reagan yelled.

Tracey groaned

_"Reagan, I think you need to stop looking for things to hate about this guy and actually admit that you're starting to warm up to him. No fighting Reagan,"_ Tracey cut off what she knew would be protests from her best friend. _"Not this time. Just figure out how you actually feel Reagan."_ Tracey sighed. _"Now why are you in Brooklyn?"_

"Jane's carousel," Reagan grumbled.

"_Are you there now?_"

Reagan could see the carousel ahead of her and told Tracey so.

"_So you'll be okay? You'll figure it out?" _Tracey asked."

"Yeah, I'll try," Reagan said quietly.

With that Reagan hung up.

By this time Reagan had arrived at her intended location. She looked up in awe at the carousel, the colours vibrant in the sun and the slow spin of the horses was hypnotizing. The tall clear glass box the carousel stood in loomed over Reagan.

Over her short time period of living in New York Jane's carousel had become a place where Reagan could think clearly. It was her safe haven in a way. The gentle rotation of the ride coupled with the noises of the children laughing and the water flowing calmed Reagan to where she could think without distraction.

Reagan sat down on one of the many benches, she smile to the blonde girl on the left side of the bench. The blonde seemed to be around Reagan's age, and she had a drawing pad in her hands.

Reagan settled into her seat on the bench.

'Okay, carousel of wisdom,' Reagan begin her thoughts. 'Harry Osborn, yay or nay?'

Somewhere under the denial Reagan knew what Tracey said was true; she was looking for reasons to hate him, but he had never given her a reason not to hate him. To Reagan looking for something to hate seems easier then looking for something good in him. She's hated him this far, why change now?

Reason: She can't go on working with him like this.

They don't fit together. He's distant and rude and she's…distant and rude. They can't see each other as any more than a job, and really that's all they should see each other as, they just meet, they're not friends, and they're not supposed to be friends. So they does Reagan feel like they should be? Or at the very least she should try.

Reagan turned her head to look at the water, but something else caught her attention. There were two men by the railing; one of them was actually standing on the other side of the railing. This one had dark brown hair that stuck up, a black over coat, and there was something red sticking up of his coat pocket. He very handsome and he had a smile that continued all the way into his eyes.

The other man had his back turned to her; but she could still see his light brown hair, almost a dirty blonde, he also wore a navy blue blazer and black jeans with the cuffs rolled up. Even though all Reagan could see of the second man was his back she could still tell that it was her boss and current occupant of her thoughts.

Something was different about him, his posture was the most relaxed she'd ever seen it. Reagan could tell by the smile on the handsome man's face that Harry obviously wasn't offending him.

Reagan begun to wonder who the guy with Harry was, she'd always figured Harry would spend time with his friends at a poker game, not a popular children's ride in Brooklyn.

Reagan had been staring for a while and she'd managed to catch glimpses of Harry's face. To her surprise he was smiling back at the other brunette, he looked like he was enjoying himself. He looked happy. Reagan had never seen Harry look even remotely this happy; she assumed the only emotions he was capable of was displeasure and smugness.

'Oh shit,' Reagan thought.

Harry had seen her, and he was currently still looking at her.

Reagan shot her head around so she was facing away from her unusually happy boss. There was complete panic on Reagan's face and her breathing was rapid.

'He didn't see me; he couldn't have, and even if he did how would he know it was me?' Reagan asked herself with alarm.

"Are you okay?" The blonde girl cautiously asked Reagan.

"Can I ask you something?" Reagan's voice was low.

The blonde let out a hesitant "sure" that sounded more like a question than anything else.

"My hair is still purple isn't it?"

The girl just shook her head up and down.

"Damn," Reagan muttered.

She turned back around to Harry's direction. Much to Reagan's relief he had gone back to talking with his friend.

Reagan heard the blonde shuffling behind her, Reagan assumed she was trying to get away from her, but she didn't care enough to turn and look. She had much more pressing matters, like Harry Osborn's eyes for instance.

Those eyes that she could barely face head on, although had seen many times. They were always guarded, like they knew if someone looked too close they'd be undone. Reagan had speculated the shield was for the world, for his enemies, for her, but when he turned around she had seen the same protected glaze over his eyes.

'Why though?' She thought.

Harry was with a friend; that much was apparent by his relaxed posture and sincere smile. So why is he disengaged? Why does he feel like he has to wall himself off? Even to those who care about him. And this railing hopper most certainly does care for Harry.

Yet it seemed to Reagan that all the love another had to offer couldn't keep Harry from imprisoning himself.

And Reagan knew why. Not the details of the why, mind you, but she did know the why.

"So what are you hiding from the world, Harry Osborn?"

Reagan's really happy the blonde girl left or this whole talking aloud to herself would be entirely embarrassing.

* * *

**Questions!**

**Did that get your attention? Okay, so, two questions for you guys.**

**1\. Do you think I should rewrite my summary for ALLH? I just feel like it doesn't match the theme of the story, ya know. But maybe I'm wrong. Tell me what you think, also tell me if there were parts of summary you liked or even if you have ideas for a new one.**

**2\. My chapters are based around Reagan, do you think I should do some chapters based around Harry?**

**You guys can either review or send me a PM to answer.**

**Alright, thank you so much guys, don't forget to tell me what you think about the chapter!**


	8. It's not fair

**I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRY. I did not want it to take that long to update. I have a good reason thought, and I know I don't usually tell you guy why, but today I will. I was in a play to raise awareness for child prostitution rings. We had a month to do it, and on top of that I was a student director and head of costumes. I had no time to write. But it's here now and can I just say wowthatsalotofpeoplefollowingthisstory! Thank you guys so much, thanks you for following, faving, reviewing, and reading. You guys are truly wonderful.  
**

**-GiraffePanda2 and xshiiningstarrx: Thanks so much for reviewing and I'm really happy you found the last chapter so funny.  
Also special thanks to those of you who I had PM conversations with, you were really helpful and ****uplifting.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 8  
****It's not fair**

Being kept up all night by thoughts of Harry Osborn was something Reagan thought would never happen to her, or at least if it did, she assumed they would have been in-depth thoughts of how to kill him. Instead what actually happened was Reagan spent the majority of the night pooling over every possible thing Harry could be hiding. Her favourite was between him cultivating baby alligators which he will release into the city's sewer system, and that keeping the family secret of the Oscorp building really being a space ship is tearing Harry apart. Obviously neither is true, but to Reagan they seem better then whatever the truth actually is.

Reagan had decided last night, during her Harry infestation; she will talk to him about it today. No, she won't just 'talk'; she will demand he tell her. She has to be firm; otherwise she'll get nothing out of him.

That is what Reagan has been repeating to herself for the past half hour. It's not raising her confidence.

"You will be tough, you will be firm, you will not cry," Reagan not-so-confidently says as she ties off her braid. Reagan lets a load huff escape her. "Okay," she drawls. "Laptop: Check. ID card: Check. Charming personality: Check. Quick wit: Check. Confidence: ehhh – buffering." With that she grabs a grey knit beanie and takes off to her impending doom.

* * *

It would seem the current relationship status of Reagan and Harry is: not acknowledging each other…like, at all. Reagan did have a plan, she was going to march right into his office and demand he put everything on the table. Of course when she got to his office her fight shrivelled from a grape into a raisin. She immediately sat down, she did not pass go, she did not collect two hundred dollars, and she did not receive any recognition from her boss.

That had been over an hour ago. A whole hour without saying a word. Just silence. The calm, the quiet. Nothing. Nota. Zilch. Zip. Zip-o. Reagan did not miss talking to him, and she certainly wasn't craving interaction with him – anyone. She was not craving interaction with anyon – who was she kidding? Herself? The mysterious voice that narrates her life and knows all her innermost thoughts and feelings? No, she was fooling neither of those people, well, one person and one invisible entity. She wanted to talk to him, she wanted to know what was he was hiding. She wanted to know him.

'Okay, Reagan S. Knox. You. Need. A. Plan.' She thinks sombrely to herself. Reagan lightly taps her fingers on her laptop from her position on the couch. She looks over to Harry, who's sitting at his desk. 'You will start of by apologising, even if you don't mean it, then you will begin pleasant conversation, and finally, once he is comfortable, you will slip in bits about how unhealthy it is to keep secrets and/or baby alligators. Yeah, this is a good plan; it'll work.'

Reagan knows it's now or never and never seems like a shitty choice. Without another thought she gets up and she begins to walk toward Harry.

She's definitely in his line of sight, yet Harry hasn't bothered to give Reagan a mere glance. She is now in front of his desk and he is still not looking at her.

Reagan presses her lips together in frustration.

'Never is a shitty choice,' she reminds herself.

Reagan puts up her hand to wave, "hey-".

"If your words are not 'I have found that file you wanted, sir' then I don't give a shit about what comes from your mouth," He steams without looking at her.

"You asshat," she gawks.

'The plan has gone awry.' A warning goes off in her head.

"You think you're so high and mighty with daddy's money and daddy's company and daddy's throne."

'Abort! Abort!' There was now a code red alarm going off in her head.

"Well, Harold I hate to break it to you, but you're not! And don't think that I can't see through you-".

Harry shoots up from his chair, "What in hell are you talking about?"

'Save the plan, save the plan, shithead,' her inner-voice yells at her.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she accuses him.

"No, actually I don't!"

At that they both move around the desk to meet each other with only air between them.

She looks up at him, she looks him square in the eyes; her grey ones battling with his blue ones. "This face you wear, the one you put up for the word, the one you use to keep your secrets yours. I can see it, dipshit," she is measured and she speaks through her teeth.

Harry pushes his body forward, shoulders square and eyebrows furrowed. "Well isn't that just fantastic for you." He licks his lips. "Let me make this clear, you don't know what I'm going through, and you certainly don't know me!"

"Then let me know you!" She challenges.

Both of them take a step back, a little stunned by what she said. That was so not part of the plan.

"Just – just." He turns on his feet. "Just leave it alone," Harry commands.

Reagan moves after him, "No, I won't-".

"You will," Harry turns around as he says that.

Harry's turn is so sudden that she almost bumps into him. Looking at his chest she replies with, "Why won't you just tell me?"

Harry bends his body so his head is level with hers' and he looks her in the eyes. "Because this doesn't concern you, my life doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't if you don't let it!" She yells. "If you would just tell me-".

"I'm dying!"

Both parties are shocked into silence by the statement, and both gawked at the other with wide eyes and opened mouths. Neither can really believe what had been said, Harry because he hasn't admitted it to anyone before, and Reagan because Harry dying was not one of her theories.

Life jumps back into Reagan as gasps and clasps her shaking hands over her mouth. With her breath shaky she shakes her head and backs away from Harry. She turns so her back is to Harry. Behind her Harry runs his hand through his hair and mutters curses under his breath.

Reagan begins to walk over to the couches, but stumbles faintly. She would have fallen to the floor if not for Harry swooping over to catch her. Harry has one arm wrapped around her back with his hand placed on her waist and the other hand griped on her arm, pulling her back up onto her feet.

Reagan turns her head around to face Harry. She can see it now, the wear, the damage, the void; it's all there on his face, in his eyes. He is broken, he is lost, and he is already dead. His breath on her face and his skin on hers' is warm, but his presence is cold.

Harry hadn't realized he'd caught Reagan, he saw her fall and he just ran to her. The decreasing distance between the two cohort's faces (which Harry was the case of) also escaped his notice, albeit only for a short moment, or so Harry tells himself. He shifts his face to the ground and clears his throat.

"If we move to the couch will you faint?" Harry quips at her; even though he's joking there is a serious underlay in his tone.

"I don't know. Being in your arms does something funny to my lady feels," Reagan quips right back.

Harry rolls his eyes at Reagan before leading her over to the couch. He places her down on the couch and sits himself onto the arm of the couch.

Reagan looks over to Harry, with her gaze she's almost asking him what to say, but Harry won't have any of it. He stays silent, waiting for her to speak.

"I know you want me to say something with my own words, but I don't know how to answer. I mean what do you say when someone tells you they're dying? I'm so sorry? How inconvenient for you?" Reagan's voice jagged through the silent room.

Harry shifts in his place on the arm of the couch; he uncrosses his lags and crosses his arms, sucks in his lips and clears his throat. "Say – say what you feel. Even if-"

"-I don't want you to die," Reagan cut him off with a quick confession.

"…It's not what I want to hear," Harry finishes his statement. "Shit." He stands up and turns in a circle, he stops when he lands back on her. Harry pounds a fist against the flat palm of his other hand. "On my personal scale of 'keep-it-coming' to 'would-you-shut-the-mother-up' I don't know where to place that."

"Don't place it," she pulls him down by the arm to sit beside her. "Just tell me about it…Tell about – about…dying. I can't believe I just said that," Reagan mutters the last part to herself.

Harry gave Reagan a blank stare, "I'm dying; it's kind of constant."

Reagan becomes flustered, half due to Harry and half because: what do you say to someone who's dying? She tightens her grip on Harry's arm, which she hasn't released from pulling him onto the couch.

Harry glances down at the hackers hand on his arm. "It's genetic, from my father. What a gift to leave your son, huh? I'll take things I inherited from my father for 4 hundred. What is a company, a dumb little box, and an incurable disease?" Harry huffs. Harry hasn't taking his eyes off Reagan's hand. "It's called Retroviral Hyperplasia."

"That's a long-ass name," Reagan interjects.

Harry titters in a huff, "which I know ass about." Harry draws his gaze away from her hand and up to her face. "I tried looking it up but all I got was some kind of virus a fish gets."

"And your father didn't tell you anything about it?"

Harry shrugs. "Nothing that I haven't told you, well, he did say that it starts with my hand shaking."

Reagan gives Harry a baffled look.

"Here," he says as he lifts her hand, the one still on his arm, with his own. He lays the palm of his shaking hand against her stable one. Harry once again shifts his eyes from her hand to her grey eyes. Reagan stares back at him with wide, unsure eyes.

"I'm really suppressing the urge to say that I'm your rock," she flatly says.

For the second time that day Harry rolls his eyes at her. "I'm dying, please try to be respectful.

She mouths the word sorry.

Harry lets his hand slip away from hers, his hand falls into his lap. His body carries the same general idea of his hand and slouches against the back of the couch.

Reagan bites her lip as she watches his display. Her other hand comes up to grip her already raised hand at the wrist and pulls it down. Reagan shakes of her 'dear in the headlights' ambiance. "Hereditary, incurable, and makes your hand shake. Wow, that has got to be the vaguest description for a disease I have ever heard," Reagan says, more to no one than Harry. Reagan takes a moment to watch Harry. She sees a defeated man, a hopeless soul, take your pick and add to the list of how Reagan is seeing Harry now. "Yes," she says without hesitation. Harry shoots her a puzzled look, his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth hangs slightly open. "Yes, I'll help you find a cure," Reagan says slowly.

"I never asked for your help."

"Eh, yes you did," she reassures.

"No. I haven't asked anyone for help, Miss Knox." Again Harry uses her name as a threat.

Reagan smirks and raises an eyebrow at him. "These files, these reports, all this stuff you're having me look for they are all about finding a cure, aren't they?"

Harry doesn't answer her; he just crosses his arms and bites the inside of his check.

"You don't have to answer me," she calmly tells him. "I'm not leaving you, Harry, and this isn't about me pitying you. My reasons for helping you are extremely selfish. I'm helping you so I can get rid of this nauseating felling I have for being a dick to a dying man."

Harry pushes himself off the couch, walks over to his bar, grabs a glass, and pours himself a drink. After taking a sip he nods and tells her, "Fine, do what you want."

Which Reagan replies with, "I will."

The two settle into their regular routine, Harry at his desk; all sullen, and Reagan on the couch…with her laptop…sitting in silence. They really need to stop doing this, although neither of them will actually do anything about the looming silence. They are both still incredible uncomfortable with the other, especially after what has just ensued.

* * *

Reagan has figured that if she's along for the long ride they better find something they have in common and fast.

'If we don't this partnership – partnership? Is this a partnership? If it is can I stop calling him Mr. Osborn? It's getting kind of creepy. I should ask him," are Reagan's cluttered thoughts.

Reagan can feel the words forming on her tongue, but those words were murdered by:

"Harold? Did you really call me Harold?"

Reagan shoots her head up, about to say a very eager 'yeah', but she quirky wimps out when she see the unamused and quizzical expressions on Harry's face.

"No," she blatantly lies, drawing out the 'n' and rising the 'o' higher as she draws it out longer. "Why would I do that?" her question is clipped.

He just 'mhhm'ed at her. Of course he doesn't tell her that he (too) feels like Mr. Osborn coming from her is a bit creepy, but he can't call her Reagan, not yet. So, Harry decides it's better to not say anything.

'Right, so first names are off the table then,' Reagan thinks.

* * *

"I've been here for hours and I've got nothing. Yes, I've been here forever and I've got shit," Reagan sings softly as she works away on her laptop. "I've got shit to offer you and I've got shit to show you, all I've got is shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

A slow clap fills the space where Reagan's song once lived; the clap grows louder and faster after each beat. Reagan looks up to see the gentle rise of Harry from his chair, with eyes closed and lips tight he shakes and nods his head as he continues to clap.

"Bravo, bravo. Bra-fucking-vo." He halts the clapping and walks around his desk and over to the couch. "No one has ever serenaded me with a song about shit before." He slides up beside her. "And that's saying something, 'cause, well, I'm Harry Osborn."

Reagan greats him with fake surprise before asking, "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Well I don't know if you meet me, but I'm kind of a dick," Harry plays along with Reagan's façade.

Reagan bogusly gasps and brings a hand to her chest in a show of fake august. "I don't believe you."

The atmosphere in the room has lightened to the point of ignorance. Perhaps that is why Harry fells so comfortable as to lean in to Reagan's personal space.

"See there's this girl that works for me – with me. And, um, I haven't treated her well and, ah…" Harry hits an awkward pause.

"Are you trying to apologize?" She whispers.

Harry nods and in his own whisper adds, "Normally I have people for this."

That makes the purple haired girl laugh.

"What I'm asking is can you tell this girl that I'm sorry and I think her hair is really cool, please?" Harry pleads with hands folded.

Reagan's attitude changes from giddy to sober. She turns back to her laptop and resumes her work, without missing a beat she says, "Okay, I'll tell her."

Harry shakes his head in understanding, but before he can leave his spot beside Reagan her voice picks up again. "Just so you know, she thinks your hair is pretty cool too."

This time Harry didn't nod, but still before her can leave his spot Reagan's voice picks up again; this time loader. "Don't leave. Don't leave. I don't got shit, I got the report! It's right in front of me and it's – redacted," her voice changes to defeat at the last word. "The trial of mixing the genetics of blank with blank has resulted in blank. Although we are discouraged our intended results were not meet we have still gained knowledge on how blank, blank, blank-" Reagan quotes until Harry cuts her off.

"Retroviral Hyperplasia, right there," he points to a spot on the screen. "This report is about the disease." Harry sounds so delighted one could say he's over the moon.

"Retroviral Hyperplasia is mentioned in the report; we don't actually know what the report is about because we can't read most of it," Reagan brings him back down to earth. "Also who just redacts things?"

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. "Well can you find the full one?"

With honest eyes Reagan bluntly asks, "Why redact something if you're just going to keep the original?"

A grunt from Harry. "Look it's late." A sigh. "Just go home." A demand. "Get some sleep." A request. "Good night." A farewell.

That's how Reagan categorizes Harry behavior, how she processes his emotions. She'll file all that information under 'A defeated man'.

Without saying anything she walks away, and then she stops. "Good night," she lets the words die out before moving again.

'It's not fair," she thinks, as she walks out the door. 'It's not fair," she thinks, as she closes the door.

Leaning up against the door she mutters, for only her to hear, "Good night, Harry."

It's not fair. She hasn't even gotten to know him. It's not fair. She hasn't even met him. It's not fair. She's only just said his name.

* * *

**Reagan knows he's dying! Harry's apologizing! Maybe, just maybe, next chapter will have Reagan's apology, and maybe, just maybe, she's take him somewhere to consume stuff. But it's all maybes at this point.**

**Thanks so much for reading guys and please review. *Cough* like you really should review*cough* it takes like a minute *cough* and there is like over 40 of you *cough* even though my story is shitty *cough* you should still review *cough* and make me happy *cough*.**

**Man, what was that? I must be getting sick or something. Well I hope you had a good thanksgiving and I hope you have happy holidays! **


	9. Not Part of the Plan

**I went away for Christmas. Now I had planed to update before I left, and I finished writing the chapter the day I was supposed to leave but I didn't edit it. Before I could edit it I realized I hated the chapter. Then something happened over Christmas and I just couldn't write after for a while. Anyway here's the chapter and here to hoping the next one won't take so long.**

**-Guest: Thank you so much for reviewing and I see what you mean about Harry. I put a little more of him in this chapter, I hope. gummi and Doodle Pro: Thanks to both of you for reviewing and my plan is to continue writing ALLH.**

**Thanks to everyone else who faved, followed, and read.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 9  
Not Part of the Plan**

A loud beep goes off in Reagan's apartment and she jolts awake with a yelp, she looks around, "Microwave?" She manages to say through a yawn before drifting back to sleep. A while later the same purple haired girl wakes again, this time a little more alert. Reagan runs her palm down her face while moaning; she also manages to push herself into a sitting position. "What time is it?" She asks no one before grabbing her phone from the table beside the sofa she is currently on. "Late. It is late 'O' clock," she says, throwing her phone down beside her.

The yawning girl glances to the microwave in her kitchen and she knows her food is as cold as the dead by now. "Alright, microwave we are about to make a connection." She stretches out her hand toward the machine in question, closes her eyes, and opens her mind and herself up to the energy around her.

There is so much different energy she can sense and it's all zooming around her and rushing into her, each with its own signature. Reagan pushes her mind forward, attempting to weave her way through the maze of energy waves and lines. She can sense what she's looking for, and it's so close but just out of reach, she's so close that she keeps pushing more and more. Though the further she pushes through the energy the more the energy pushes back, and she can feel the unwelcome singe of the beginning of a headache. She can't stop though, not when she is this close, not when she can just reach out and…

"Yes!" Reagan fist pumps. She looks at the microwave with pride, then with puzzle, then with terror.

There is a wave of purple hair when Reagan jumps up and she lets a string of 'no's fill her apartment as she runs to the food warmer. She slams her fingers against the buttons. "I don't want 6 hours, I don't want hours. It's just pizza, damnit turn off! What have I done?" With the last yell of panic the microwave pretty much blows up. Smoke begins to seep from the cracks, the lights flicker, and small popping sounds come from within the contraption.

As fast as she can Reagan lifts her hands in defeat and backs away from the microwave. The look on her face can be read as 'I didn't touch that'.

"Man, I haven't done that for a long time," she marvels.

The last time she made something blow up by using her powers was in high school. Oddly enough, it was another kitchen appliance, a blender in Home-Ec. The task was to make salsa; it should have been easy, however, with Reagan's inability to use her powers…some accidents occurred. When Reagan tried to turn the blender on it wouldn't, and during a small hissy-fit on Reagan's part the blender kind of 'malfunctioned', leaving her partners and her clad in mushed tomatoes and peppers.

After that incident Reagan spent a long time focusing on controlling the use of her powers, and even though she did finally gain the capacity for controlling when and where the usage takes place the actually using has never been in the cards.

Back in the present time Reagan is rushing around her house looking for the fire extinguisher.

* * *

Reagan looks down at her half eaten Chinese food; she's not exactly sure when Chinese became a symbol of failure for her. Maybe it was somewhere between being a disappointment to her extended family and late night criminal…ing.

Looking down at her emblem Reagan can't help but be reminded of the dreadful feeling she has about helping Harry. "My microwave exploded, how am I supposed to keep someone from dying?" She asks her chow mein. She sighs and shovels the noodles passed her lips, "You are no help," she barely says through fried noodles and vegetables.

* * *

1:36, 1:36, 1:36, 1:36. Those are the numbers the clock beside Harry's bed has been flashing for the past 40-some-seconds. Harry has been staring at that clock for the past 36 minutes and sleep for him is nowhere near. Over the past couple days his insomnia has increased and its starting to take a toll on him. When the clock flashes 1:37 for the first time Harry rolls out of his bed.

'Why fight it?' he thinks.

Harry turns on the lights in his living room to dim and stumbles around as his eyes adjust. He pours himself a drink and fumbles onto his couch. Looking for something, Harry shifts some clutter around on his coffee table and under some magazines he finds it, a sketch book. Harry pushes the magazines (with his face on it) to the floor and grabs the sketch book. While slowly flipping through the pages to find a blank one Harry glances at some of his older sketches. There are ones of his old boarding schools, friends from his boarding schools, a lot of his old girlfriend Chelsi (the model), and more towards the back there were some pages with half drawn images that had been scribbled over. Actually all of the recent ones had been scratched out. Harry hasn't been able to draw since his father died. Maybe it has something to do with not having Chelsi as a muse now, or anyone for that matter.

Harry finds a blank page, tapping a pencil he picked up on the blank page he thinks about a muse. There's Peter or Felicia. Either of them would be good, he's close to both of them and it's not like there is anyone else that he sees regularly. Nope, no one that Harry can think of. Yeah, he's going to draw Peter or Felicia. Harry starts to draw the lines of a faces, a face that defiantly belongs to Peter or Felicia.

Harry groans and tightens his grip on his pencil.

"Reagan Knox: 20-something, five-foot-tiny," Harry starts describing the subject. "Tiny, tiny, tiny, with hair that kind of just…kind of looks like an eggplant," Harry clears his throat. "Annoying and awkward and – and tiny. Seriously how can somebody the size of a grape cause so much trouble for me? Maybe I could just accidentally step in her." Harry lifts his pencil off the page. Harry's lips lightly turn up at the corners as he looks down at the lead outline of a face staring back at him. "Then again…"

* * *

"Sorry I'm so late," Reagan tells Harry as she walks into his office. "My professor wanted to have a _word_ with me. A word my ass, it was more like a novel."

Reagan stops suddenly, finally noticing her dishevelled and weary boss. He's just a heaped of clothing and flesh at his desk. Gingerly, she takes a couple steps forward; stopping a couple feet in front of his desk she swings her arms. "You doing okiday, boss?"

Harry raises his head slightly, massive dark circles clam the area under his eyes and his normally flat hair is ruffled. "Sorry." He rubs his hand across his face. "Last night I was…" Harry stops his words before it's too late. He thinks back to the long hours he spent detailing and, well, just thinking about the face of the young girl standing in front of him. "I didn't sleep well." Harry clears his horsed voice.

Reagan shifts in her spot, uncertain of the next move to make. "Have…have you eaten…today?" She tries. He shakes his head, indicating to her that he hasn't. She nods her own head in understanding. "Well, um." She pauses and shifts her eyes around the room. After a deep inhale she offers, "Come with me."

Even though his eyes are filled with question she can see clearly that he has no patience to interpret her today.

"I mean, you haven't eaten and I haven't eaten so it makes logical sense that-" She cuts herself off, then takes another deep breathe. Slowly she begins again, "Would you please let me take you out to eat, as my apology." After a couple seconds of silence Reagan picks up her rambling again, "But then again you seem really tired so it's probably not a good idea. I don't even know why I suggested it; well actually I do-"

Harry cuts her off by shushing her while holding a finger to his lips. He looks at her for a moment before nodding 'yes' and telling her he'll be fine. Harry grabs a scarf that was hanging off the back of his chair and quickly ties it around his neck. As he is looping the scarf Reagan catches a glance of something on his neck, he moves to fast for her to see what exactly it is. Although, she does conclude that whatever is on his neck is the reason for his new fashion accessory.

Harry catches her staring at his neck. He gives her a look that says 'are you ready?'

Outside the Oscorp building Harry says he can call for his limo which Reagan shoots down, telling him the restaurant isn't too far. They walk down the street in silence for a little while and both of them find it nice; even relaxing. Not like before, when they sat in silence in Harry's office. Reagan begins to wonder why the mood between the two has changed from hostile to content; she remembers his apology and how although it wasn't much it felt sincere.

"I suppose," Reagan starts out of the quiet. "I should make an actually apology and not just buy you food."

"It's fine; you don't have to," Harry tells her honestly.

"Please let me," she begs of him.

Harry gestures for her to continue.

"I know I was rude to you and quick to judge and I called you an asshole a lot, like _a lot. _So, you know, sorry," awkward is her confession, with her odd hand movements and jerking head.

Harry chuckles at her; a grin is plaster on his face. "I know I'm not the most sociable person or the easiest to get along with, and I did not treat you the best – I mean who gives people an ultimatum? Anyway, I'm thankful for your help and your apology. Even if it was a shitty apology," he teased.

Reagan gave Harry an expression of fake hurt. "Well at least I actually apologized to the person I was apologizing to and not tell the people I was apologizing to to tell the person I wanted to apologize to to apologize for me," Reagan finished with a huff.

Harry let out a genuine laugh and so did Reagan.

"I don't think you're that hard to get along with, I mean when you're not being a major cock you're kind of fun to be around," she told him.

"Thanks, I think. Same goes for you when you're not being a…a…tit?"

Upon arriving Reagan leads Harry through the doors of a cozy diner which is relatively void of people. The black and white checkered tiles and the servers wearing matching uniforms add to the 50s vibe, while the comforting smell of coffee is like a hug to the new occupies of the dinner.

"Come on, I'll grab us a table in the back," Reagan eagerly tells him. She grabs his wrist and pulls him along. She moves past the tables and chairs in the front and leads them into the back, the only notable difference is the red booths instead of chairs and stools. Reagan pulls him to a stop at a corner booth in the far back. "Does it please you?" Reagan quips.

Harry looks down at his companion and with a frown he plays along, "It will do, mortal."

She makes a show of rolling her eyes at him, "Ha. Ha," She mocks drily.

Reagan turns from Harry to sit down but is abruptly stopped by a jerk on her arm. When realization of what caused the jerk hits Reagan she bits her lip and clenches her eyes shut. Reagan loosens her grip on Harry's wrist and slowly slides her fingers down his hand. A pleasant shivers runs down both Reagan and Harry's spines as their fingers glide over each other.

They both quickly slide into opposite sides of the booth, both hoping the other won't notice the effect their interaction had on them. Luckily for them a distraction comes in the form of a Hispanic waiter, not much older than either of them, who greets Reagan with a friendly smile and a "what can I get you?" Reagan greets the waiter with a kind smile of her own.

It is apparent to Harry that the two are familiar, they'd have to be with the way she is blatantly offering him that smile. That smile speaks words of its own: it's good it see you, I'm happy, I'm happy because I'm seeing you. Harry can't help but remark to himself that it's a smile he wouldn't mind being graced with. But it's not a smile she's giving him; it's a smile she is giving so freely to the blushing boy.

Harry finds himself annoyed at the occurrences before him; not because he isn't the one captaining her attention, oh no. It is because she asked for his time and its time not so freely given to purple haired displeasures. At least those are his thoughts as he tries to identify the root of his irritation.

Relieved, Harry is when Reagan finally ends her conversation with the waiter by a request for coffee.

'Finally,' Harry thinks as the boy walks away.

"I hope you don't mind I order us coffee, it's just you look like you're trying to fit in with the army of the dead from Lord of the Rings and I need to ingest coffee every hour so I can continue acting like a normal…eh…functioning human being."

"It's fine," he curtly tells her. "Well the staff certainly seems very _friendly,_" He says, even more curt then before.

Reagan meets Harry's gaze; she raises an eyebrow, then leans back and crosses her arms. "I come here often and I tip well. Now if you are implying anything else…" Reagan lets her words hang. She gives him one last pointed look before promptly hiding behind her menu. From behind her makeshift wall she can hear Harry chuckling. 'I'm not going to look.' She bites the inside of her cheek. 'No, don't do it, Reagan; don't give in to the bipolar weirdo. Come on, Reagan, be strong – shit.' Reagan peeks over the top of her menu with threatening eyes. "What?" She grumbles.

"It's just – do you tip with money or just leave them useful tidbits of knowledge?" He gives her a shit-eating grin and she answers him back with a light smile.

It registers to both of them that he has gather a little more understanding about her character then either of than would like to admit.

"With the way you pay me I can afford to tip well," she says, placing the menu and crossing her arms again.

"With the way I pay you, you can afford to eat at much nicer places then this."

"Hey." Offended she sits up. "This place has good food and staff who are much nicer then present company," as an afterthought she sticks her tongue out.

"Charming," he says before thinking to himself, 'What is wrong with this girl?'

"Well at least I don't have a massive stick up my butt…" She cringes after that comes out of her mouth. 'Idiot,' she calls herself in her head.

The two stare at each other for a moment, not sure which direction they should go after this awkward statement. That seems to be a common occurrence between the two of them: say something awkward, endure awkward silence, and then awkwardly ignore what happened. It's a trying cycle, one they would both rather be excluded from. However, history has decided to repeat itself with the current form of awkward silence which involves shifting eyes and tapping feet. This is broken by the simultaneous responses of:

"If you don't watch your tongue one day someone just might cut it off."

"Let's just pretend that is one of the many things I _didn't_ say."

'What is wrong with this guy?' Reagan asks herself.

'Idiot,' Harry reprimands himself. 'Why did you say that? Now she probably thinks you crazy.'

'Holy shit he is cray-cray,' Reagan panics in her head. 'Breath, Reagan, just look him straight in the eyes.' Reagan swallows what she's pretty sure is half a lung. She then pushes the menu up into her face one more time, eliminating Harry from her sight.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Harry says to the menu. "Just when we were finally getting along I have to go and insult you. Look, Miss Knox I don't want to fight you, I guess I'm just so used to doing it."

Reagan pops her eyes over the top of her menu to look at him, she's about to say something but it is disturbed when the waiter places two coffee mugs filled with its namesake on the table. "Thank you, um, but could we just have five more minutes to decide what we'd like?" She asks the server.

"No problem, Reagan," he says with a smile then takes his leave.

Reagan urgently picks up her mug to sip the drink. With the cup still in front of her acting as a more familiar wall she states what she wanted to before. "In all honesty I like it – fighting with you, hating you. So this is just as much my fault."

"You like it?" He gawks at her confession.

She places her coffee down. "Some sick pleasure I guess, I don't really know why. It's always been like this though; my past boyfriends have been…as my family puts it "egotistical scumbags." It started with me just trying to make my family mad, not my mom or dad, but my aunt and cousin, then after a while it got kind of fun."

Harry taps his fingers beside his untouched coffee. "Do you think that maybe because you didn't see the relationships as sincere, you just saw them as a game?"

She shrugs her shoulders and nods her head to signify that he may be on to something. "And don't you think I'm insinuating that I'm interested in you."

Harry puts up his hands in surrender, "I wasn't even…"

"Good," she snaps. "Because I'm not some love sick girl."

'I never thought you were,' Harry tells her, however only in his mind.

* * *

They had ended up eating from the Breakfast All Day Menu and both got waffles. Well, more like Reagan got them both waffles because Harry said he was too tired to choose.

After a while they fell into a sort of comfortable-yet-awkward twilight zone. They only talked about trivial things; neither of them wanted to broad into 'real talk' again and both of them made an effort to say away from the topic of work.

Now, outside the restaurant, they are saying their farewells.

There's something Reagan really wants to say, but she isn't sure if it will go over well. 'Never is a shitty choice,' she reminds herself. "Maybe…You should just rest this weekend," she tells him through clenched teeth. "Okay bye!" She says quickly and just as quickly she turns on her hills, although, before she can get to far Harry catches her by the wrist and turns her around to face him.

"Before you leave you should know that I tried to get a hold of that report and I was told that it doesn't exist," Harry tells her. He can feel her pulse under his fingertips, the thumps tell him to let go, but her soft skin keeps his hand on her wrist.

"Hard!" Reagan yells, startling Harry.

"What?"

Reagan doesn't hear his question. "I am such a dumbass," she yells and pulls her hand away from his to burrow in her hair. "A hard copy, the original copy that's what we need." With her other hand she points a finger at him. "What is Dr. Parker up to?"

"Decaying," Harry offers.

"Oh," her voice is filled with dejection. "Does he have any family we could get a hold of, maybe somebody that would have his research?"

"Actually…" Harry starts.

Before Harry can continue a black limousine pulls up beside that two, drawing their attention.

Reagan clears her throat, "I think you ride is here."

"Right," Harry nods. "I'll take care of Dr. Parker's family, you just…well…I'll see you Monday. Kay, Reagan?" With that Harry hops into the limo and leaves Reagan gawking on the street.

Inside the limo Harry realizes what he just said, he realizes the way it flowed off his tongue, the way it felt so pleasant to finally say. It was a relief to not have to remember all the time to say "Miss Knox", but that relief is soon killed in Harry. He has come to the conclusion that he will have to try extra hard not to say her name now that he knows how satisfying saying it is.

"Shit!" Harry yells from the back of the lino.

On the street the only thing different about Reagan's thoughts is that she has to get him to say her name again. There is no question.

"Damn! This is not how things were supposed to go."

* * *

**Well I hope there aren't too many spelling and grammar mistakes in this chapter. Have a good new year everyone. **


	10. Could This Be A Chemical Reaction?

**Hello writers block , my old friend. Seriously, every time I tried to write it take me hours just to get 200 words. I also started to feel pretty crappy about my writing.**

**-shyangel101: thanks so much for reviewing; it means a lot. I only hope you're still reading this.**

**With that being said thanks to anyone else who is still reading this! You guys are great!**

* * *

**Chapter 10:  
Could This Be A Chemical Reaction?**

Normally Reagan would be thrilled to have a whole weekend away from Oscorp and Harry, but since he referred to her informally she's been a little anxious to see him again. The excitement of building a rapport with Harry now seems a far closer reality than it did last week, and of course by the time Monday rolls around she's about 12% lucid and 88% giddy about the whole thing. So giddy, in fact, that waking up on Monday seems much less unwarranted.

As she normally does; Reagan grabs the first articles of clothing she comes across, in this case, baggy purple cargo pants and a frumpy cream coloured cardigan with cherries all over it. She also grabs a beanie to cover her messy hair.

Before she can do much of anything else her doorbell sounds throughout her apartment. Reagan leaps over to her door and pulls it opened. Standing on the other side of her doorway is Tracey with a large suitcase. Reagan throws her friend a confused look. "You lose your keys or something? Also is there a dead body in there?" She points at the suitcase.

"Hey, best friend. I don't have a home," Tracey flashes a fake smile. "How are you doing? Why does half of you look like you're stuck in the 90s and the other like Molly Hooper? Can I move in with you? Hey have you had those pants since the 90s?" The rapid bombardment of questions confuses Reagan and the only reply she can manage is an absentminded "yes". Tracey steps through the doorway, struggling a little with her suit case. "Great, I'll just take the couch," she says between grunts.

Reagan raises an eyebrow at her friend, but nonetheless she helps push the suitcase over to the couch. As the short woman is pushing she brings up the elephant in the room, "I'm going to need you to be a twinge more insightful about why you're moving in."

Suddenly Tracey stops pulling and spins on her heels, "well," she starts, vexed. "Today I told my roommate – sorry ex-roommate – he is an attention-seeking, man-child, who can't seem to put dirty cereal bowls in the sink. Do I find them in the washroom, in the living room, and even _my_ bedroom? Yes. But goodness forbids he actually put them in the sink." Somewhere in the middle of her rant Tracey had begun to pace, while the shorter women propped her elbows on the suitcase (that reached just over her waist) and rested her head on her fists.

"And what did Colin do after you said all that to him?"

"He threw an orange at me!"

Tracey had been living with Colin, her ever-so-cleanly-roommate, for two years. A little bit after Tracey had moved to Manhattan for school she realized she didn't have enough money to live in the dorms long-term. So, when she heard a classmate was looking for a roommate she jumped at the opportunity. It was fine at first; they got along well enough and no red flags went off, however, after a while little things the other did started to irritate.

"Look, Reagan, you know I wouldn't encroach on you if I had another choice – and if you want me gone I'll skedaddle – but I need a place to crash while I look for a new home." The brunette reasoned with a calmer voice than the one she had before. "Please."

Reagan stands at her full height and walks around the huge suitcase to grab her friend's hand. "I don't mind having you here. Besides, it can be like the slumber parties I was never invited to in elementary school. HA! Suck it Meg Bishop; who's the giant nerd now?"

Tracey clasps the hand holding one of hers with her other, with a deep, dramatic sigh Tracey gazes into Reagan's eyes with her own doe ones. "It's still you, Molly Hooper." With a laugh the girls let go of each other and silently agree to finish moving the suitcase to the chesterfield. Once there the two sit parallel on opposite ends of the couch, with their legs stretched out on the cushions. The two discuss how and when they will retrieve the rest of Tracey's things and where it will be stowed. Tracey suggests she just rent a storage unit, but Reagan insists she keep her smaller items in her apartment and the larger ones in her own storage unit in the basement of the building.

With the arrangements out of the way Reagan insists they do something stereotypical, like braid each other's hair and talk about boys. Tracey doesn't waste a second, because even though the badly dressed midget was joking, talking about boys is just an open invitation to talk about one Harry Osborn.

"…I'm just saying that normally you would be complaining about him by now, when in reality you haven't spoken a word about Harry in days. Is it killing you to not talk about him as much as it's killing me to not know why you're not talking about him?"

"You'll just have to suffer, Trace, because I am not telling you anything." Reagan sticks her tongue out.

"I will make you break. I can always make you break."

And she dose. Not even ten minutes later Tracey's persistence makes Reagan crumble like an over baked cake. She comes clean about everything: Harry and her apologizing to each other, Harry accidentally calling her by her first name, their sort-of lunch date, and the psychoanalysis Harry gave her about her past relationships. Well, she tells Tracey almost everything. The only thing she leaves out is Harry's unfortunate situation of dying.

Tracey, being the outspoken person she is tells Reagan exactly what she thinks. Like how it's about time they make an attempt at being courteous to one another and that she's pretty sure they can both benefit from a friendship (as strange as that friendship would be). However, like Reagan, Tracey keeps something to herself, her suspect of Reagan's growing feelings towards the billionaire. Feelings surpassing those of a mere friendship, feelings that Reagan may not (yet) know what they really are.

Later that day, after Reagan had helped settle Tracey in, the former bids farewell to the latter and tells her that if she needs anything to call.

Reagan, now alone in the elevator pushes the button for the floor above her own rather than the lobby's button. Once on her desired floor she finds the apartment above her own. Reagan takes a fat envelope from her bag and as best as she can stuffs it under the door. Inside the envelope is a wad of cash (a wad she recently received from Harry Osborn as her first pay) and a note that simply says "PLEASE STAY!"

* * *

Walking down the familiar hallway near Harry's office (a hallway Reagan hasn't had any trouble with since Harry 'hired' her) Reagan suddenly runs into trouble. A large man wearing military body armor comes marching into view followed by a parade of scientists. Reagan, being fairly certain they haven't seen her, ducks behind a nearby plant. It is very rare for Reagan to be overly thankful for her tiny stature, but in this moment she is.

Before Reagan can move from her hiding spot the sound of high heeled shoes echo through the hall. She watches the owner of those shoes, a dark brunette in a pretty black dress, pass right by her; muttering something about Harry and his odd behaviour. 'Aw, I'm not the only girl he pisses off, and here I thought I was special.' Reagan continues her walk to the CEO office more carefully.

Reagan stops at the door of the office, noticing that Harry is not alone. Both Harry and this new, yet somewhat familiar, stranger have their backs facing Reagan. Not even ten seconds pass before the not-so-unknown-unknown turns quickly on his hills to face her, like he can sense her presence. The man appears to be a little younger than Reagan, and he is quite beautiful by anyone's standers; with his gravity-defying hair and thick eyebrows. The guy gives Reagan a curious look and a quick once over, he then quirks an eyebrow at her. Reagan sends him back the same expression but with an open mouth.

It isn't until Reagan sees the red beanie hanging out of his back pocket that she realizes who this is. It's the guy she had seen at Jane's Carousel. The railing-hopper, as her called him.

The brunet throws her an inquisitive "Hi?"

To which Reagan replies with her own meek "Hi," followed by a just as meek smile.

Harry turns around to see who has Peter's attention and a look that says he totally forgot she was coming flashes across his face.

"Should I go?" She asks Harry.

"No, it's alright. Come in," he waves for her to move forwards as he himself comes to stand beside the other guy. When Reagan is in an acceptable proximity of the two she stops and rocks on her feet. "Miss Knox this is Peter Parker. Pete, Miss Knox," Harry introduces the two strangers then moves to sit on the edge of his desk.

Reagan smiles at Peter and meets his hand with her own to shake. "Parker, as in Dr. Parker?" She asks.

Peter's smile grows bigger as they continue to shake hands. "Yeah, that's right. He was my father. Uh, Tell me, Miss Knox do you, like, work for Harry or…"

They are still shaking hands.

"Please," Reagan draws out. "Call me Reagan, I insist. It's actually my preference." Although her gaze is on Peter her words are directed towards the other male party. "And I – I um, do I work for Har – Mr. Osborn? Well, you see I, um, I-"

Still shaking hands.

Harry cuts her off, deciding it would be better than her incoherent ramblings. "She works with me personal, not for Oscorp. You see, I employer her to help me organize some personal and work...stuff. So I don't screw up running my kingdom."

Both Reagan and Peter turn their heads to Harry and give him the same look that reads as 'that is the worst lie I've ever heard.'

"Can you to please stop that?" Harry sighs and gestures to their still shaking hands. Realizing what they've been doing they quickly unclasp their hands. Peter runs his now free hand through his hair and mutters a "sorry," where Reagan just rests her fist on her lips to hide her face. She nods at his apology, expressing one of her own.

"Anyway," Harry interjects. "I forgot Miss Knox was coming in today when I asked you here Peter." Harry knocks a tattoo on the desk underneath him and then mouths "sorry" to Reagan.

"Oh that's alright, he's cute," Reagan reassures Harry. "But more importantly," Reagan chimes up again before Peter can say something cheeky. Her quick dismissal of Peter's looks cases Peter to deflate a little and Harry to send him a pointed look. "I have questions about the body armor I just saw. What's it made from? I read in that _one report _about self-healing suits; is that one of them? Is it just armor or is it fitted with weapons as well? Lastly, does the suit become wired to the organic wearer?" As Reagan was asking the question she was also moving closer to Harry.

"Nano-fibers, yeah, not yet, yeah, anything else?" Harry answers the questions in monotone.

She nods her head, "What's the bionics like with my last question?"

At this Peter takes a couple long strides to stand beside her and chimes in with "I'd like to know that too!"

"It's actually very simple. The suit uses a series of injected implants into the nervous system to A: monitor the body and B: take control if the body begins to shut down. The nano-fibers are not only used in the exterior of the suit but also in the injections. Of course we're not the first company to introduce technologically advanced battle armors, but we are one of the leading in human focused battle armors. You see companies like Stark Industries and Trask Industries lean more too robotic intelligence, the latter more so then the former. Stark's are – were, I should say. Given the incident where an evil mastermind took control and tried to blow up an inter expo. Anyway, as I was saying: Stark's battle armors were more like a cluster of robots with a human-mother commanding each squadron. Now Trask is focused on individual AI units, which are born and bred for the soul sadistic purpose of mass genocide of mutant kind. So my point, lady and dork, is that here at Oscorp we won't try and enslave you with mass brutality of robots; we will enslave you by making YOU the robots." After Harry's monologue he gives the two a sarcastic smile, showing his dimples in all their vicious glory.

With a cheeky smirk Peter asks "Is that last part a promise?"

As the guys laugh Reagan watches on in curiosity. The only other time she's seen Harry look this happy is when she observed him last week; talking to the same man standing beside her. The same man who is now in joyous conversion with Harry, the person she has decided to undertake the endeavour of a friendship with. A sudden trembling envy washes over Reagan as she watches the two. Reagan knows she should be happy that Harry is able to be comfortable with someone, but she still wants that person to be her. Or she at least wants to be one of the people he considers a friend. She wants to hang out with him, talk to him normally, and for goodness sake call him by his first name…and have him call her by hers.

Reagan is pulled into their conversation when she hears Harry talk about some research of Peter's dad that they were unable to find.

"…I've asked around and nobody seems to be able to find this stuff. I was wondering if you might have some of your father's work," Harry asks.

Peter shakes his head, "No, he didn't leave anything like that. Sorry."

Harry nods his head and gives Peter a look of understanding, almost like he expected Peter's answer. There's a moment of silence between the trio. Reagan can't quite place it, but awkwardness lingers in the still moment.

"Well," Peter starts. "You ready to head out, Harry?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," the golden brunet says to the darker one.

As the darker brunet shuffles backwards, with his hands doing an odd dance he says "You do what you gotta do. I'll just be over her talking to Reagan." Peter grabs Reagan by the arm and leads her across the room, out of Harry's hearing. Reagan looks up at him in puzzlement. "So Harry and I, we're going to my place for dinner and youshouldcome…with us." Even though they are far enough from Harry he still speaks in a low tone.

Stunned by Peter's request, Reagan gazes up at the man, whose chin she barely meets. Her mouth begins to move before her words can form. "That's really nice, Peter, but I can't-"

"Nonononononono, just hear me out, alright? Just – just give me a minute. You see Harry really wants you come-"

Reagan cuts him off with a sarcastic hum. "Is that so?"

"That wasn't a minute! That was rude, I'm just trying to tell you something and you cut me off," he says with almost believable offence. "Now as a matter of fact, yes that is so. He may not look it or act it, but he wants you to come along. I mean who knows him better than me? His best friend? Well, we are one in the same. That's right you're talking to Harry Osborn's best friend and Harry Osborn's best friend is telling you that Harry Osborn wants you to come for dinner. What do you say to that?"

What does she say to that? On one hand she doesn't know this Peter Parker, and even though he's really kind he's also kind of strange. She's sure he means well, but what if her coming makes Harry upset? All her effort would be for not. But then there's the other hand. In its simplest form this is a chance to hang out with Harry, to get to know him, to build her metaphorical bridge of friendship.

Reagan takes a deep breath. 'Never is a shitty choice,' she reminds herself.

"Okay, If _Harry_ wants me to. I'll come for dinner."

Peter grins from ear to ear. "Great! He does, he totally does. I'm just gonna go over there and tell him he does," Peter mutters the last part to himself. He then leaps over to Harry on the other side of the room. "Hey buddy," he says as he puts his hand on Harry's solder. "Just wanted to let you know that Reagan is coming with us."

"What?" Harry whispers, all his attention is on Peter. "Why is Rea – Miss Knox joining us?"

"Okay, okay, okay." Peter makes calming motions with his hands. "First: you can call her Reagan; she obviously wants you to. Second: she's pretty and smart and you seem to like her well enough. And third: I knew you don't do complicated, but how complicated can she be?"

"Okay, first:" Harry mimics his best friend. "How do you know that, and how do you know I want to call her by her first name? Second: I'm not commenting on that. Third: You have no idea, my friend."

A frustrated groan is let out by Peter. "First: if you don't want to use her first name why are you trying so hard not to use it? Second: you can't deny any of what I said about her. Denying that would be like denying that broccoli is the worst tasting vegetable. Third: maybe you need a little complicated."

Harry is really resisting the urge to punch his friend. "First – NO! We are not doing this any longer; it's stupid." Harry groans. "Bring her if you want, but I can't promise that she and I won't come to blood." With his last remark Harry grabs a green scarf lying on his desk and angrily ties it around his neck.

Peter fist pumps the air at his victory, and then moves across the office, towards the door. "Let's make like a bakery truck and haul buns!"

Harry bounds to catch up with Peter. "We should hurry if we're gonna catch the train."

Reagan lingers behind, a little stunned with fear. "Subway," she mutters to herself. "Um, actually I don't do public transportation," she voices. As the two guys swing around to face her with dumbfounded looks she bites her lower lip. "Sorry, it's a personal thing. You guys can just leave me behind."

"Nonsense," Peter dismisses. "Harry's got a limo," he exclaims with a twisted grin.

"I also have much less inconspicuous cars."

* * *

To say the drive to Peter's house is nothing out of the ordinary would be a lie. To Reagan (and everybody else in the car) it is extremely uncomfortable, what with Peter making up origin stories for how Harry and she met and Harry and her lying on the spot about how they met. The tale they spin conflicts with itself since both parties didn't consult each other before hand, and they very unfortunately can read the other's mind. But Peter just sits there, smiling and listening to their catatonic story telling abilities, even when the story makes no since. Peter suspects they have a reason for keeping their true meeting a secret, and even though he is silent now he won't hesitate to interrogate Harry about the runaround they're giving him later. For the meantime though; Peter just whines about how the limo would have been so much cooler to take. This leads to an argument about how Harry doesn't want to draw any unwelcome attention to Peter's Aunt. Peter retorts with the principle 'if you got a limo you should use it.'

* * *

"Would you two slow down? My legs aren't as long as Canada," an irked Reagan yells at the men taking long strides a few feet in front of her.

The two brunets turn their heads towards her; they then turn to eye each other in silent conversation. Harry stops altogether while Peter jogs backwards to Reagan's side. He matches her forward pace and throws an arm around her solder.

"Sorry, you're so tiny I just forgot about you," Peter sheepishly shrugs.

Reagan glares up at Peter.

As they walk by Harry Peter puts his free arm around Harry's solder; sandwiching himself. "Harry agrees that your height is problematic. Don't you, Harry?"

Harry gazes off in front of him; deep in thought. He doesn't show any mirth towards Peter's jest, only an indiscernible attitude. Harry looks over at Peter and in a soft voice utters, "_Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!...And though she be but little, she is fierce_." The last three of Harry's words are spoken to Reagan instead of Peter, and the gleam of esteem in Harry's eyes does not go unnoticed by the CEO's best friend.

As the group climbs the steps of a townhouse their conversation is discontinued, but not forgotten. Both Reagan and Peter make mental note to speak to Harry, although for different reasons.

"Aunt May! Were here," Peter yells as they pass the threshold.

A very sweet looking lady appears before them. The greying of her hair and gently wrinkling of her face give her away to being in her late 50s to early 60s. Aunt May, as Peter called her, grabs her nephew in a warm hug. She then turns to Harry and with a bright smile gives Harry the same warm greeting.

"Oh, Harry," May places her hands on either side of his face. "I can't believe how much you've grown."

Harry smiles at May and places his hand over top of hers, "It's really good to see you, Aunt May. I think I missed you more then I missed Peter," Harry gives her a genuine smile.

"Hello?" May shifts her attention to Reagan, who originally went unnoticed when May greeted the boys. She gives Reagan a puzzled look, then Harry, and finally Peter. "Peter, you said it was just you and Harry. You didn't say more people were coming."

Peter puts his hands up in defence as his aunt marches toward him. "I-I didn't think it would matter. I figured she and Harry would be like a package deal. You know: with every irritating rich boy you get a sociable, sweet gal."

"You didn't think it would matter? I cooked for three of us, Peter."

"Aunt May, look at how small she is; she'll barely eat anything."

With her hands on her hips May glares at Peter, "Peter-"

"Um, sorry," Reagan interrupts them. "As much as I'm opposed to being regarded to _only_ by my stature," she glares at Peter. "If the amount of food is a problem I-"

"Nonononono," May well-meaningly cuts her off. "There is enough food for you; there just won't be for Peter. Besides as Harry's girlfriend you're always welcome."

At the same time, Harry and Reagan leap forward with urgency to inform May her assumption is negative.

"I don't date anything that's purple."

"I am not tall enough to ride that ride."

* * *

May slaps Peter's hand away from taking another serving of pasta (for the third time). "Peter, when the guests are done then you can have more," she says with a stern look. Her attention then shifts to Reagan. "So, Reagan, are you in school or are you working right now?"

"I'm majoring in computer science and minoring in computer programming. As for work I do some computer mumbo-jumbo for independent parties."

May gives Reagan a sweet smile, "I'd ask you more about it but I'm afraid I don't know anything about computers, I'm sure that's a topic Peter would enjoy though."

"I'd be careful though," Harry cautions Reagan. "As pretty as Peter is he can turn into a huge dweeb."

"Maybe we can cancel each other out," Reagan shrugs. "Anything else you'd like to know, May?"

"Please call me Aunt May, dear. Did you grow up in New York?"

Reagan shakes her head, "No; I was born in California and when I was nine I moved to Colorado. I've only been in New York for about two years."

"And which state do you like the most?" May asks.

"New York, there's nothing quite like this city."

Dinner continues on in the same light, warm manner as May asks Reagan more questions and Peter and a reluctant Harry tell stories of their youth.

* * *

May has retired to bed; calming she had an early shift tomorrow and Peter has run off leaving Harry and Reagan standing awkwardly in the living room. "So," Reagan begins. She brings a fist up to rest lightly on her lips. "So, do you normally quote Shakespeare?"

In a frank tone Harry answers her, "People should always quote Shakespeare; no matter the circumstance. But when I was studying abroad I…ahh…studied it. So…"

"What else did you study abroad?"

Harry slips his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relax. "Mostly languages; dead and not."

At that moment Peter enters the room, holding something behind his back. "Okay, I couldn't find any decks, but I did find Candyland!" With an ear-to-ear smile Peter pulls an old game box with bright pink lettering from behind him.

Harry gives Peter a look of part skepticism and part frustration.

"This could work," Reagan announces. Harry's look passes to her. "I'm serious! If we land on red we tell an embarrassing story. Orange: we'll say a regret we have, purple: a happy memory, blue: we take off an article of clothing – I'm kidding. We'll take a shot. - Green is a free square, yellow: we…get to…take a shot, and pink: we have to do an impression of the person to our left. Yeah?"

Peter nods his head, "Sounds good to me. But we don't really have shot alcohol and buying it may prove to be difficult."

"Well," Reagan gives the guys a look that says she knows something they don't. "Lucky for you two I'm a nice legal twenty-two. Now where can I buy some alcohol?" She asks Peter, but before he can answer her she speaks again. "Never mind, I'll just use Harry as a dowsing."

Harry snaps his head to Reagan; his gaze tells her she's walking on thin ice. Reagan, however, only gives Harry a wink before pushing along the muddy blonde. With Peter on their heels she nudges Harry's chest so he walks backwards, and with little resistance he allows her to guild him to the street. Once there Reagan links her hands with Harry's and holds them out, just like one would with a dowsing rod, and closes her eyes.

It's slightly an awkward image, Harry Osborn holding hands with a purple-haired midget whilst sanding completely still. An image made stranger still by the confused onlooker, simple known as Peter Parker, to their outlandish behaviour.

With a playful grin Harry nods his head, motioning for Peter to lead the way. As Peter does so; Harry tightens his grip on the tiny hands in his and leads their owner after Peter.

* * *

"This is stupid," Harry curtly voices as Peter sets up the board game and Reagan lays three shot glasses on the table.

The two willing participants look over to each other and mentally converse the following:

Peter: You deal with this.

Reagan: Why do I have to deal with this? He's your friend.

Peter: Because I'm highly convinced he's in love with you and will do anything you say.

Of course, because neither of these two have powers involving telepathy; that conversation never actually happened and Reagan is blissful unaware of the inkling Peter has towards Harry's feelings for her.

"Come on, Harry," pleas Reagan. "For once in your life, man, be the fourteen year-old girl at a slumber party that you've always wanted to be."

"There was no part of that sentence that didn't make me feel uncomfortable," Harry utters.

With a smirk Peter chimes in, "so you'll join?"

Harry nods reluctantly, knowing that between the two he doesn't have a choice.

"Shots, all around," cheers what should be the responsible (legal) adult. "Come on, I want to get you boys good and drunk by the time the nights over."

That is the opposite of what happens. None of them but Reagan get particularly drunk, much to the dismay of Harry (who has hit none of the designated shot squares). This of course causes Harry a lot of ridicule from Reagan, the most inebriated of the three. She defends herself with "I have not had a lot to drink, I'm just small and a lightweight. Peter, is not as drunk as Reagan, but still fairly tipsy (as he had snuck another shot before the game).

They've been playing for a couple rounds; so far the highlights for Reagan have been Harry's happy (but faint) memory of his mom singing Beatle songs, and Peter's impression of her (for which he stole her beanie. He has yet to give it back).

"Take a card, BUM," a very drunk Reagan yells to Harry.

"Nah."

Reagan rolls her eyes at him, "You're just jelly 'causes you haven't taken a shot and I have," she taunts. When Harry doesn't make a move to take another card she quickly grabs one and waves it at him until he grabs it from her. "Green, looks like you're safe – this time, you cocky dishwasher!" Reagan clears her throat. "Sorry, I get a little in-you-face when I'm drunk."

While Reagan is 'trash-talking' Peter pulls his card, an orange.

"A regret, huh? I – I," Peter huffs. "I regret that sometimes I used to think I'd never know what it would be like to have a proper dad, even though I had one."

A sombre silence passes through the group, one that does not last long though.

"I'm sandwiched between two encyclopedias for daddy issues. And I just said that out loud instead of thinking it in my head. Why do I always do that? I am so sorry you two – I didn't mean anything by it. Peter, I'm not making fun of you I just – I just – I," at this point Reagan starts crying. "I'm not that bad of a person. I mean I know my mouth moves before my brain does sometimes, but I don't mean to be a jerk-"

Peter cuts Reagan's monologue off with, "It's fine Raggy," Peter soothes her as he pulls her in for a hug. "We're all good, everything is good. Now let's turn the tap on that fountain off," He coos while rubbing away her tears.

As Peter continues to console the tearful girl Harry gapes, open-mouthed, at the show in front of him. "I wish I was as drunk as you two right now," he mumbles to himself.

"What was that, Harry?" A now less tearful Reagan asks from her spot in Peter's arms.

Ignoring her question he tells her she can make up her offence to him by sharing some of the issues she has with her dad. He's joking. Sober Reagan would have known that, but drunk Reagan, well.

"I don't have daddy issues," she says honestly. "Now my daddy _is_ an issue. When my prom date came to pick me up my dad gave him one of those head cameras and told him to give me that instead of a corsage. That way my dad could see everything that happened. It was a joke of course, but right before we left I did overhear him tell my date that if I got pregnant I would be the one going to university and starting a career and he would be the one to give up his scholarship and his dreams to stay at home with the baby."

"And look at you now; no baby," Peter exclaims.

Reagan gives Peter a very energetic high-five.

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry pauses and gives Reagan a focused stare, his expression reads as though he has something very important to say. "You had a date to prom? How'd that work with your inability to commit to relationships?" Harry tries to keep a straight face, but fails.

Reagan cocks an eyebrow an with a smirk creeping at the corners of her mouth she gibes "Almost as well as your ability to be _less_ than six and a half steps from alcohol."

The ribbing between the two goes on, unfortunately for Peter (who finally reminds the two they are still playing a game).

This isn't really what Peter expected when he invited Reagan along; he expected Harry to sweet-talk Reagan like she was a bond girl. That's how he's always hit on girls. Sure Peter hasn't seen Harry flirt since middle school, but come on, he dated a model. You date models by being classy, not by calling them an overpaid eggplant. Of course there is always the obvious answer as to why Harry is treating her differently, he's not into her. However, that answer doesn't work for Peter, because there was a point in Peter's life where he knew this rich arse better than anyone else did. And he does not miss when Harry steals glances at her or the genuine smile every time she says something so dorky it would make Steve Urkel cringe or how he's been subtly touching her all night (a brush of the shoulder, a hand on her back to guide her, a knock of the knees). There is no question in Peter's mind about whether Harry is into her or not, although, there is a question about why he hasn't done anything about it. After all, if Harry wants something Harry will go for it.

"So what are you waiting for, what's stopping you from asking her out, man?" Peter asks Harry.

With the game done and the night at an end Peter dragged Harry into the kitchen to find something to sober him up (and talk about Reagan).

"Pete, I'm a little tired and less drunk then I'd like to be. Can we not play the pronoun game?"

"_Her_," Peter whispers and nods his head to the drunken girl lying on the couch, trying to keep a spoon on her nose. "You fancy her-"

"I do not! Is this why you pulled me in here, to talk about her?"

"Of course it is! You and I both know coffee doesn't really sober you up. But it does make you more alert so drink up," Peter hands Harry a mug with the coffee he had been making. "Shakespeare? Come on, Harry you cannot tell me you don't like her. Not after you compared her to a summer's day."

A look of recognition passes through Harry's eyes, then a groan through his teeth. "Why did I quote Shakespeare? Crap, I'm an idiot." He lets out another groan. "You remember when I said I don't do complicated? Well, my relationship with Reag..._her_ is very complicated. I don't want to hurt her, not more then I already have and if she and I were a couple and I die – did something to hurt her I…well I just couldn't put her through that. That's why I can't tell her how I feel, that's why I can't act on my feelings. I'd just end up hurting her."

"I get it," Peter responds with a far off look. "You want to keep her from harm, and you choose her being safe over you being happy…" Peter clears his throat.

Harry raises his eyebrows, "Your complicated?" He asks.

Peter nods, "Yeah, I'll tell you about it sometime. As for now you have a drunken girl you need to drive home."

"What, why me?"

"Because I don't trust her in a taxi and you heard her, she doesn't do public transportation. Plus you're the only one out of the two of us who is sober enough to drive. Also you're in love with her."

"Hey, I never said love; I'm attracted to her. Plus these feelings are new and people don't fall in love that fast. Anyone who does is an idiot."

Peter's only response for Harry is an 'mmhmm' and a shove to the living room.

"Guys," whispers Reagan. She's lying on her back, with a spoon on her nose, and her hands beside her face, in the air ready to catch the spoon if it should do the unthinkable and fall. "I've finally got the spoon to stay. I am superior."

"Yes, I'm sure gravity has nothing to do with it," Harry says, then flicks the spoon off her nose.

A very long and dramatic gasp escapes from Reagan. "You bastard," she hisses.

* * *

"Are you sure you that's your address?" Harry asks the girl in his passenger seat.

"Pff, Yeah. Do you know your address? It's in loser-vile b-t-dubs."

Harry's grip on the wheal tightens. "I'm going to ignore that," he mutters more to himself then his passenger. "I just want to make sure you didn't give me the address to an ex-boyfriend or something." The silence from the girl beside him concerns Harry. Glancing over to the girl he sees she has a thoughtful expression, there is slight confusion and concern in her eyes.

"…If that's the address for the tattoo artist where did the forensic smarty-guy live? Well I defiantly didn't give him the address for the guy who plays th-the...adult ukulele." Reagan pauses for a moment to think over the address she gave Harry. She turns to him and says, "We should be good."

Harry gives her a curt nod before asking (against his better judgement), "A tattoo artist, a forensic scientist, and a guitarist. Do you have a type?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them. Silently Harry prays that she is too intoxicated to sense his jealousy in that little slip. She is. But her feeble state does not discourage her from answering Harry.

"Hot and moody, with a slight superiority complex. I'm a glutton for punishment."

Harry presses his lips together in order to not say anything else that could be construed as attraction for the hacker. Although seeing as she is contently distracted with opening and closing her window she probably isn't able to construe anything.

* * *

Harry cuts the engine; now the only sound to be heard in the car is a gentle snore from Reagan. She fell asleep some time ago while singing her rendition of that blue song (she changed blue to purple though).

Harry reaches over to brush some hair off of Reagan's face but stops himself before he can touch her. It would be too affectionate, too real for him. It's easy for Harry to tell others it's just meaningless attraction he feels for Reagan, but to himself he'd be lying. Harry hasn't fully confronted himself about what he feels for the girl in front of him, however, he can't deny he cares for her.

It would be so easy to just reach out and touch her, to hold her in his arms, or even kiss her. He plays it out in his mind. He'd cup her face with one hand and then gently glide his thumb over her cheek and lips. He'd lean over to her and stop for a moment with his lips just grazing hers; able to feel her light breaths tickle him. Once her close proximity becomes too much he'd push his lips on her's-

"Don't go down that path, Harry. Get it together," Harry scolds himself. "And stop turning into her. Normal people don't talk to themselves."

"No, only crazy people do that," groggily Reagan's voice breaks the silence.

"We're here, you can get out of the car now," he states; ignoring her.

Reagan simple nods her head and opens the door. When she steps out of the car she stumbles to the ground. "My Legs, they're broken!"

Harry huffs and gets out of the car. "They're not broken," he says as he helps her up. He pulls her arm around his neck and raps his arm around her waist to support her weight. "I'll walk you to your apartment."

Reagan can only hum in response as her intoxicated mind thinks 'Harry too close.'

The CEO manages to drag Reagan up to her apartment door (it's a wonder he achieves that with Reagan pointing in place of giving him actual directions to her apartment.) He leans her against her door while she fishes for her keys, forming on her face is a bright smile that says she found the lost city of Atlantis and not just the keys for her apartment. The woman attempts to effortlessly slide her keys into the lock while simultaneously saying good bye to Harry.

"_Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow_," she quotes. With a proud smile she says to Harry, "See I can do it too!"

He grins at her, "You can quote Shakespeare but you can't unlock your door. How am I not working for you?" Harry grabs her hand that is struggling with the key and helps her unlock her door. "Good night, Reagan. Take tomorrow off and sober up," Harry tells her while gently pushing her into her apartment.

The last thing Harry hears as the door closes on him is Reagan yelling "Trace, I'm drunk!"

* * *

**Important stuff (kind of):**

**I've decided to go back and clean up my pass chapter. Nothing in the story will change, so you won't have to read them if you don't want to. I will say in the top author notes if the chapter has been edited though.**

**Once I'm done that I'll start on the next chapter. I'd like to update within the next month or two, but we'll see...**

**Lastly, I made a tumblr for my Fanfiction (under the same pen name). Check it out if you want.**

**Fav, follow, and please review. Your reviews help me so much and I honestly read then over and over (not crazy). Thanks for staying with me!**


	11. Atlas's Punishment

**It's very like me to set plans and not keep them, so for the plans I made three months ago and didn't keep I'm sorry. But what are you gonna do? Anyway thanks a ton for following and faving and reading and reviewing and just supporting. Also, a special thanks to those who followed me on Tumblr!**

**-Biance. 101: Aww thanks so much! Okay, first, you are so right about Reagan and Harry being opposites but also similar (I honestly didn't noticed before you pointed it out). Second, there is no way Peter is taking any of this crap from Harry. Nope! No way! It feels so good to have Harry's feelings out there, I have so much power now. Lastly, thanks you for saying you enjoyed drunk Reagan; she was a pleasure to write. And it was nice having Reagan a bit more free around Harry. Oh, and thank you for following me on Tumblr.**

**-ThatOnePairOfGlasses: Tons and Tons of errors 0_0 I'm glad you enjoyed the Candyland ****scene, it was so much fun to write.**

**-astro17vc: Thank you so much. You don't have to wait any longer for the next chapter because here it is!**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor **

**any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 11:  
Atlas's Punishment **

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump is not an attractive sound. It's irritating, intrusive, and makes people want to defenestrate someone. If just hearing it is bad waking up to it is double bad and waking up with the thumping inside one's head is triple so. Triple the bad, triple the pain, and triple the Advil for the purple haired protagonist.

She can't remember much of last night past when they started drinking. Only what faint whips of images and words swirl through her mind like a half remembered dream. There is _one_ thing she remembers very clearly - the feeling of Harry's hand on her waist and his fingers playing a silent and awkward tattoo on her hipbone. Hell if she knows why this is the only thing she can remember clearly! Just his hand, not what it was doing on her waist or how it got there; just his hand.

The first thing Reagan sees when she opens her eyes is the inside of her bra. Here is another thing Reagan doesn't know: why her bra is resting on her face like glasses or a sleep mask. She lamely paws it off her face. The room seems to tilt and spin in the light of her newly uncovered eyes, but the room manages to steady itself as a glass of water and some Advil on her nightstand come into focus.

_Tracey_, Reagan thinks. _Words to associate Tracey with: caring, thoughtful, gracious._ Reagan scarfs down the Advil and water; it burns and relives her dry throat.

The woman slowly inches her way out of her bedroom and into the rest of her apartment. There, at her kitchen island, she sees her newly acquired roommate.

"Well, look who's up," Tracey singsongs loudly. Very loudly.

_Words to associate Tracey with: conniving, menace, Satan,_ Reagan remarks crudely to herself. Her reply to Tracey is a low grunt that sounds suspiciously like "coffee."

The woman practically spoons the machine as she waits for her coffee to brew.

"You know you could probably get the coffee into your body faster if you put your mouth under the nozzle," Tracey nonchalantly states.

Reagan flips her off.

Tracey is ready to pounce. There's something Tracey wants to know about Reagan's night out and she is going to hound that girl till she spills. Tracey sits and waits, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to capture its prey. Seeing her opening when Reagan relaxes as the hot drink slides down the hungover girl's throat; soothing her, Tracey verbally leaps at her best friend. "Who, pray tell, were you out drinking with last night. Because when you left you were going to see Harry and when you came back you were plastered and telling me how Harry smells like scotch and cynicism."

At the mention of Harry the sensation of his hand appears on her waist, playing its silent rhythm. "You know, he does smell like that," Reagan ignores the question and the ghost hand.

"Don't be coy, Reagan. No man can withhold information from me."

"I am no man," Reagan mutters into her coffee so only she can hear. "Am I not allowed to have a personal life?" She asks her friend.

An evil gleam shines in Tracey's eyes, "So Harry Osborn is part of your personal life now?"

"Don't you have class?"

"I did and I went and I came back. I can do that because I didn't stay out drinking late last night with...who was it again?"

Reagan averts her eyes and takes a lingering sip of coffee. She is way to hungover to be teased by Tracey about the company she had last night.

"Didn't _you_ have class this morning?" Tracey asks, trying to get a rise from her friend.

Reagan doesn't jump or swear; she simply places her coffee down and mutters a shameful "yes".

Tracey doesn't retaliate; she waits, knowing this composed Reagan is the proverbial calm before the storm. Tracey knows Reagan won't be able to keep how distraught she is under the surface for long. It's not how Reagan is; she wears her heart on her sleeve, she's an opened book. The brunette watches as her friend steadily walks over to the sink, turns the water on to cold, and splashes the freezing water on her face.

A shiver runs down Reagan's spine and a curse down her tongue. "I have to move. That's all there is to it. You know my professor warned me that this would start to happen. He told me I was distracted, that I was putting my attention and energy into something else and if I didn't put that back into my studies stuff like this would happen. You know what the worst part is? It's that he's right. I've been putting so much focus into Harry that I've ignored everything else. So, I just need to pack my bags and move under a rock so I don't have to hear anything more about Harry "The Shit" Osborn."

"So…it was Harry you went out with last night-"

"Of course it was Harry!"

Tracey moves herself around the counter and gentle pulls Reagan into a hug. "You don't have to move away; you missed one class – I've missed like nine. And it can't be just Harry you're putting your time into, what about the work for the client who had you investigate Oscorp? The reason you sneaked into Oscorp in the first place, surely you remember that."

"I finished that job a while ago and I haven't taken another job since. All the work that I've been doing lately has been for Harry. I don't even know why, he doesn't even like having me around."

Realization flashes across Tracey's face, Reagan is not just upset because she feels like she's failed school-wise. She's upset because she feels like she's failed in reaching Harry; all of that time, all of that effort, and Reagan feels like it has been for nothing. Tracey doesn't say anything; she just holds her friend and strokes her back.

The moment is broken my Tracey's phone. As Tracey pulls her phone from her pocket Reagan yells at the phone "Oh, shut up." Shockingly it does.

"The call was just declined. Did you do that?" a surprised Tracey asks.

Reagan shrugs, "I don't know, I've never done that before – I've tried before, but it's never worked. If it was me that's cool – that's progresses," She giddily squeals.

"That's great! This is also the perfect moment for me to segue and say that if you can make progresses with your powers then you can make progresses with anything, even Harry Osborn," Tracey encourages.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but thanks. You know, in a weird way it makes me feel better. Also you should probably call whoever that was back."

The brunette nods in understanding and pats her friends arm; she then excuses herself.

* * *

"…agan? Reagan? Reagan, wake up. Your phone keeps going off," Tracey yells, waking Reagan from her nap.

"wah?" Reagan mutters, still half asleep.

"Your phone, it's been going off so much you'd think you actually have friends. Wait," Tracey gasps excitedly. She leaps over to Reagan on the couch. "Is it Harry? Did you guys get so drunk last night you got married and now he's texting you to let you know he wants to stay married, have sexy times, raise my precious niece, and then die in each other's arms like the ending of _The Note Book_?"

Reagan rubs sleep out of her eyes. "What are you smoking?"

"Just pick up your damn phone and tell me if he remembers you doing body shots off him."

"Why did I let you move in here?" Reagan mutters while cheeking her phone. Tracey looks at Reagan with pleading eyes. "It's not Harry, psycho. It's Peter. Huh, I don't remember exchanging numbers, but then again I don't remember a lot of things that happened last night."

"Who's Peter?"

"He's Harry's best friend. He's also the one who invited me out last night."

"So, no body shots?" Tracey pouts.

The hacker shakes her head, "No body shots. Peter took my hat last night and he wants to meet at a cafe to give it back. Do you think you could keep your drugs out of the apartment while I'm gone?"

* * *

Immediately after stepping into the noisy and packed cafe Reagan is waved down by Peter. He's got a goofy smile from ear to ear and her hat on his head. Reagan returns Peter's warm smile and waves back.

Upon her reaching the table Peter stands with open arms, "Raggy!" he greets with a warm embrace. "You look great. How's the headache?"

"Better then when I woke up, you?" Reagan asks as they sit.

"Fine…ish. Though, Harry did call me this morning and he was _really_ loud." Peter pushes a cup filled with coffee across the table and to the girl.

"Thanks! My roommate did the same thing, but in person," Reagan sips her coffee, reveling in the flavour. "How did you know I drink black?"

"I asked Harry," Peter shrugs nonchalantly. He also watches close for her reaction.

Reagan just pushes the cup into her face. The ghost of Harry's hand forms on her waist again. She tries to shake it but the hand only grips tighter to her. _Why in the Land of Mordor was his hand on my waist?_

Peter had been hoping for that reaction from her, Harry had told him all about the cute – Peter's words not Harry's, but Peter does know how to read between the lines – thing she does where she hides her face behind things when she doesn't want to talk or acknowledge something.

Harry said a handful of things about Reagan. Of course it was hard for Peter to get Harry to talk about her; he had to trick him into it.

"Soooooooooooooooooo, here's your hat." Peter tosses the hat to her.

"But that's not why you wanted to meet me; is it Pete?"

Peter gasps in fake offence, "Of course it's not why I asked you here, I absolutely want to talk about Harry."

"He's all anybody wants to talk to me about," Reagan mutters into her mug as she takes a drink.

"I know Harry's got something going on that he hasn't told me about and I know you know what that thing is. I also know that whatever this thing is it's the reason he hired you and it's the reason you guys wouldn't tell me how you met. I know Harry can be a jerk some – most – pretty much all of the time, and I see the way you look at him, like you want to prove yourself to him. My point is don't feel like you need to carry Harry's problems on your shoulders, and don't let him abuse the work you do for him."

Reagan can't seem to move her eyes away from the liquid in her mug to ask Peter "Do I really look that desperate?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I just know Harry can have a weird effect on people. I always check for emotional scaring when I know someone has had prolonged exposure to Harry Osborn."

Reagan gives a forced chuckle. "It's true though. I am desperate, desperate for him to see me as more than a lamp with a purple wig."

"Trust me Harry does not think of you like that."

Little did Reagan know of the conversion Peter and Harry had earlier.

_"Come on tell me what you really think of Reagan," Peter begs through the phone._

_"I think she's a lamp with a purple wig."_

_Silence._

_"Fine – I can hear you rolling your eyes – I think she's a distraction, a very pretty distraction that distracts me from all the crap in my life."_

_Peter smirks into the phone. "What about her-"_

"Harry thinks highly of you and, trust me, he likes having you around,"

"I'm very sure you're lying, but thanks," Reagan scoffs.

"Believe what you will, doesn't make it true."

* * *

"I have no clean underwear!"

Is the first thing Reagan hears as she walks in to her apartment. Tracey is sitting on the sofa, laptop on lap and finger pointing at a pile of dirty clothes.

"That's disgusting. No clean undies, no free lodging," Reagan says in complete seriousness. "There are machines on the first floor. Just let me grab my laundry and I'll take yo-". Reagan trips, not on anything, she just trips. "Shit," she whispers.

"Did you just trip on nothing?"

"No". Clearly a lie.

Tracey throws Reagan a look that's says you're an idiot, but a lovable one. "If you can't walk straight sober how did you get up here last night?" The question is rhetorical.

The ghost of Harry's hand begins to play the tattoo that Reagan knows by heart now. Reagan has a fuzzy flashback of Harry and her in the buildings elevator. Her arm is around his shoulder, his hang is playing the silent tattoo on her hip, and the whole thing is awkward as hell. There's another memory that comes running back to Reagan's mind; this one is of Harry leaning her against her door, there's a small smile tugging at the edge of Harry's mouth. "I don't know, can't remember." she lies, with a far off look in her eyes. She shakes her head to bring herself back to reality. "What have you been doing?" Reagan asks while moving to throw her Laundry into a basket.

Tracey slowly closes her laptop. "Notin', just research."

There's something in Tracey's voice that makes Reagan believe she's hiding something. As a rule, from being so nosy, Tracey doesn't have many secrets; so Reagan won't push her.

"Key, let's go."

As they go on their way Tracey inquires about Reagan's lunch-date; Reagan quickly tells what happened then changes the topic to their latest lecture.

Upon walking into the laundry room they are greeted by Jane; who is just finishing up her own laundry.

"Hi, Reagan and...Tracey, right?"

"That's right!" Tracey nods. "It's good to see you again, Jane. How are you?"

Jane smiles as though she's got a huge secret that she can't wait to share. "You probably don't know this, Tracey, but I've been a little down on my luck and I thought I'd have to move out. Anyway, someone anonymously gave me money, more than enough for me to stay here a couple more months."

"Really?" Both younger women ask at the same time. Reagan has mustered up as much shock as she can, and Tracey is hiding a side glance to Reagan.

"Yeah, I'm so relived and the kids are ecstatic."

Reagan moves to give Jane a hug, while she embraces her friend she says "I'm so happy for you guys. This building just wouldn't feel right without you four," Reagan releases the tight hold she has on her friend. "And I'm so happy I won't be losing Josh…"

At the mention of her sons name Jane's manner changes from excitement to desolation.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is Josh Okay?" Reagan trembles.

"He's – he's. I don't know," Jane pitches the bridge of her nose. "Josh has been acting really weird lately. He's distant, he won't talk to me, he won't talk to his father, I've asked his teachers and they say the same thing; he's isolating himself and he won't talk to anybody about it. Reagan, he looks up to you so much and I think he may open up to you. Would you talk to him, please?" There's a quiver in Jane's voice; it's unmistakably the sound of someone who's lost in a desert with no escape.

"Of course I'll talk to Josh; I'll do anything I can to help."

Tears well in Jane's eyes, "Thank you so much, Reagan! This means so much to me, and I'm sure it'll mean so much to Josh too. Speaking of which; I should get back to my kids. Thank you again, Reagan. And it was good seeing you again, Tracey."

Both Reagan and Tracey give Jane a light wave and encouraging smiles as she leaves.

Once the room is empty of other occupants Tracey gives Reagan a well-meaning but dour expression.

The hacker takes a moment to gather her laundry and begins shoving it into a machine. Without looking at her friend she advises "If you have something to say, say it."

The other girl takes her own moment of silence to start her laundry. "Your willingness to help other's in whatever way you can is one of the things I admire most about you. It's a quality I strive to have myself."

"But," Reagan states the inevitable.

"But you can't help everyone, not forever. Sure you're managing to help Jane and Harry and me, but the world is already on Atlas's shoulders. It's fine it you want to offer help but don't let anyone give you that weight to hold on your own. Because you may lose your grip on something and it will slip and the world you're holding will fall and that person just might blame you. Or worse, you might blame yourself. Don't forget that having the weight of the world on his shoulders was Atlas's punishment; don't let it be yours too."

Reagan signs, "I know. I know a day is coming when something will happen and I won't be able to help someone. I know when that day comes I will fall apart because no matter how much I help it will never be enough. But until that day comes I will keep helping people and I will keep taking the weight of someone else's world and I will keep putting it on my shoulders."

Tracey grabs Reagan's hand a give it a reassuring squeeze, "And when that day comes I will put your world on my shoulders."

* * *

**I'm going to actually try and stay to my one to two month update plan this time!**

**I. Am. So. Excited. For. The. Next. Chapter. It is going to be a huge turning point in the story and more importantly Reagan and Harry's relationship ;)**

**It was so amazing hearing form so many of you guys, so please if you want to tell me what you think of the story or if you have questions or if you just what to talk to me review or PM me or send me an ask on Tumblr. I really appreciate the feedback!**

**Have a good rest of the summer guys! And fingers crosses my next chapter will be up before the summer ends. **


	12. The Siren and The Sailor

**Can we all have a party because of how fast I got this up? I might not ever happen again, kidding (I hope). I probably got this up so fast because I've had this chapter in my mind for sooooooo long. Also it is shorter then most of my other chapters, but this really didn't need to be super long and I didn't want to play around with filler. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this! Thanks to those who faved, followed (I can't believe I'm at 60), read, and reviewed! You guys mean so much to me.**

**-Bianca. 101: Thanks so much for reviewing, it really brightens my day to read what you think! Well, I hope I don't disappoint you.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 12:  
The Siren and The Sailor **

A soldier going into battle retains every thought of being invincible, if only to equalize their doubts that originate through the safety net they lay amongst their loved ones in case of the unseemly event of their demise. They hold the mentality the sword of their enemy will not cut them down to fortify their will to fight. Yet, as they leave with the masses of scornful faces and down-turned eyes they still say their farewells as though they are their final ones. These warriors comprehend their fates to end one of two ways; they either leave the battle field with breath in their lungs or with no breath in their lungs. A similar temperament is held by a young women walking into Oscorp. Even if she can't trace the origin of this perception, she still knows she will either come back here after today or she won't.

The variation in situations is that the soldier knows home is where he will return to or not. For this woman home is not Oscorp. Oscorp is the battleground.

Reagan knows a soldier does not keenly wish to return to the battleground, nonetheless she finds her only wish is to remain a reoccurring entity in this hellhole. Not for love of the fight, but for an inbuilt solicitude to the locals; or rather one local in particular.

A spell-caster is where the lady's allegiance has fallen. Whether he knows it or not he has entranced her into his hold, his spellbind unbreakable to the girl, and hers to him. She calls to him in the night, in his dreams like a siren to a sailor, and he follows her in his dreams and he wakes and he follows her when astir. Unbeknownst to the two they have entangled themselves in a red string of fate. Their entanglement is never to be frayed or untied, or cut by the sharpest scissors. It crosses through worlds and weaves itself into every curve and bend and turn of this universe and the next universe and the next after that. Even at the end of everything it remains unyielding to the black mouth that swallows all in its path.

A love story such as this, such as any great or simple, has a beginning. However, not every beginning starts at the start, it doesn't always start with how they meet or when they first saw each other. Sometimes it starts simply with the 100th brush of a hand – an ordinary event that that turns the tide. In the future, when Harry and Reagan look back, they will acknowledge today as their beginning.

Although, as Reagan stands at the edge of Harry's office, it's not the beginnings of a love story she feels is about to come.

Harry sits at his desk, head in hands, elbows on desk, eyes closed, and muscles tense. This Harry is so familiar to Reagan, yet she feels as though she's never met the man in front of her.

He hasn't noticed her. _He never does, _she thinks.

His phone rings and he picks it up. The person on the other end of the line speaks more than Harry does; the only sound he is making is the occasional hum when necessary. Harry has no interest in engaging in the conversation.

Reagan withdrawals into her own psyche and calls forth her memories. She sees Harry's disinterested hums in ever interaction they've ever had. _Harry has no interest in engaging with me. Harry has no interest in engaging with me. Harry has no interest in engaging with me. _The mantra plays in her head like a broken record.

"Okay, Felicia. Thank you." Harry hangs up.

That statement catches Reagan; it brings her back to the now, back to Harry. "She's your personal assistant, right?" She murmurs, not looking at Harry, but at the ground.

Harry is taken by surprise and he jumps at the sound of her voice.

"Did she call you Harry?"

Stunned, Harry answers her, "Yes, she did. Are – are you okay?"

Looking at her feet, she takes a step into the office. "Does she know?" Another step. "About you." Another step. "Like I do." Another step. "Does she know all the things you've told me?" Another step – she's at the desk now. Reagan finally looks up and meets Harry's eyes with hers. "Does she know you're dying?"

Harry stands and moves around his desk. "What is wrong with you, Miss Knox-"

"THAT – Miss Knox," she mocks. "I do more for you, I know more about you, but I am treated like more of a secretary then you're actually secretary. My name is Reagan!" She's yelling now. "Yet you refuse to use it. You distance yourself from me, you ignore me, and you treat me like a second-rate citizen in Harrytown: where the only people who matter are Harry."

_Harry has no interest in engaging with me._

For the longest time Harry doesn't say anything, he just stands there staring at her with his jaw quaking.

_Harry has no interest in engaging with me. Harry has no interest in engaging with me. Harry has no inter-_

Reagan is suddenly grabbed by strong hands; they pull her into the connecting body. Her boss's arms are around her and his head is nestled in the crook of her neck. He is shaking violently and Reagan realizes he's shaking because he's crying.

"You matter so much, you have no idea. But it's because you matter I can't get close to you. If I die, I die knowing I've lost you, and I can't lose you. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't lose you." Harry is gripping on to Reagan so tightly she's afraid he'll crush her. "If I let you in and I die, you lose me – you loss a friend. I can't do that to you; I care too much for you. I can't let you suffer because of me. I can't. That's why I can't say your name. Because if I let myself say your name I let you in, and I inevitably hurt you."

The neck of her shirt is wet with Harry's tears and her face is wet with her own. _Harry can't engage with me. Not without hurting. Not without hurting himself…and me. _She wraps her arms around Harry. "You're hurting me now. And yeah, it's not fair. It's not fair that I just found out what a wonderful person you are and I'm not going to get to keep discovering what a wonderful person you are." Her own tears flow just as hard as Harry's. "It's not fair! But I would rather spend what time we have left together as friends. Because…" Reagan cups Harry's check in her hand and moves his face to face her. "Because that would hurt less then what you're doing to me right now," she pauses. "Harry," his grip tightens at the sound of his name from her lips. "Losing you would hurt less then you hurting me right now by not letting me in."

Harry rests his forehead on hers, his eyes dilated and longing. Her fingertips gently trace lines and swirls on his check. "Do you mean that?" Harry asks.

Reagan can only nod.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay, Reagan, okay."

They stay like this for a long time, not talking, just embracing. Eyes closed and fingers clinging. Their tears are dry now and so are their pools of emotions.

Reagan pulls to move away from Harry but he just draws her back to him, the tiny girl quirks her eyebrow at his odd behaviour.

"What are we going to do, Reagan," Harry forlornly asks.

Reagan grabs Harry's face in both her hands. "We get off our asses." There is a determined gleam in Reagan's eyes. "We do everything we can to find a cure."

"How? I have tons of scientists working for me and the resources at my fingertips, but I can't use any of them. If the board finds out I'm dying they have inexcusable reasoning to dispose of me."

"Then we find another way, we find other people to help us. We do whatever we can to find a cure."

Harry clears his throat, "We?"

"I'm not giving up on you, Harry. I'm here 'til…'til the end."

Silence lingers between the two. Neither of them wanting to considered what 'the end' really means.

* * *

The next day Reagan doesn't linger at the doorway of Harry's office. She saunters right up to Harry and flashes him a stack of papers. "A list of unique, hereditary diseases, with and without cures. I'm hoping something will be similar to Retro Hyperplasia."

Harry nods, and then holds out a take-away coffee cup to her. Reagan reaches out to take it then does a double-take. She moves a step back and gives him a suspicious glare.

The dying man shakes his head. "No scheme or anything I want; just a friend buying coffee for a friend."

Reagan gives Harry a friendly, appreciative smile and takes the cup from him. "I haven't read through all of the diseases yet," she says as she spreads out the stack of papers on Harry's desk. Harry leans over the short girls shoulder to look at the papers. "But I've been marking the ones that have similar symptoms as yours and I was thinking we could-"

"Do you wanna get out of here?" Harry bluntly cuts Reagan off.

"What?" Reagan stands up straight. "We've got stuff to do and a disease to cure."

Harry sighs, "I know, but I can't sit around this office all day again."

Reagan puts her hands on her hips. "I thought we agreed to put all our effort into this."

"I know, I know. But…I'm dying. Would you really ignore the wishes of a dying man, Reagan?"

She grits her teeth in frustration. "Fine," she grunts, and grabs the labels of his jacket and pulls an all too happy Harry Osborn along.

* * *

**I can't help but feel like this wasn't that big of a turning point or that good of a chapter. I'm probably being too hard on myself.**

**Anyway, next chapter Reagan and Harry hit the town and there is going to be a lot of backstory (like the reason Reagan doesn't do public transport) and maybe even some good old fluff.**

**I also added a hint to a plot element for the sequel. Yes, I'm doing a sequel to A Little Less Human. I waffled with this for a long time, but the plot bunnies just kept coming and after a while I had a full, comprehensive plot.**

**I'll try to keep my 1-2 month update schedule again, but I'm going away soon so its going to take me a longer time then this chapter.**

**Thanks again, guys! Review and do the thing, Zhu Li!**


	13. Science Facts Do Not Set The Mode

**I made the two month update! Although...I did rush on this chapter so it's not up to my normal standards (whatever those are). Thank you guys for sticking with me even though I suck at updating, and for those of you who are new I'm so sorry.**

**Ra'iira The Fiend: Oh my goodness thank you so much for you words :3 they warm my heart. I've so honoured you would ignore my brutally abusive of grammar. Bless you.**

_**Trigger**_**_ warning - vehicular accident:_ It's not really graphic or anything, but I still feel as though I should add this; just in case. It starts after the first in story line break (not the one after the disclaimer but the next) and ends at the second.**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 13:  
Science Facts Do Not Set The Mode**

"Are you checking your email again?"

Harry looks up from his phone to find Reagan on the opposite side of a shop stand full of NYC souvenirs. She's glaring daggers at him; however her intimidated demeanour is nixed by the over-sized novelty lady liberty sunglasses she's wearing.

"Take those off. You look stupid," Harry demands.

"Jealous you can't pull them off?"

Harry just stares at the purple haired freak in front of him for a moment before speaking in what can only be described as his "big-bad-CEO-voice. "Reagan Knox, if you continue to wear those abysmal things I'm afraid I can no longer be seen with you in public. I'm very serious. Take them off."

"I'll make a deal with you, 'ight? I will take these off and never put them on again if you, Mr. CEOs just wanna have fun, stop checking your email."

"Deal," Harry says as he slides his phone into his pocket. "And you can never say 'ight again," he adds as an afterthought.

Reagan gives Harry a thousand watt smile then ditches the glasses and walks around the stand so she can link arms with him and pull him out the store. "We've been over this, Harry. Today you are not Harry Osborn: big shot, dying CEO. You are Harry Osborn: everyday, normal, dying tourist...boy, I really know how to kill a party."

Harry chuckles at her. "Where are we going next, Reagan?"

"Thin crust pizza!" She hollers and, much to Harry's dismay, people stare. "I still can't believe you've never done most of the touristy things in Manhattan."

Harry shrugs, "I only lived here 'til I was eleven and my dad sure as hell wasn't going to take time to do this stuff with me. The only time I did do these things as a kid is with school or when Aunt May would take Peter and me."

"If you don't mind me asking, what was growing up like for you anyway?" Reagan bites her lip and turns her gaze to the ground.

Harry is silent for a moment, debating if he should tell the girl beside him his life story. "Nothing special, and I'm sure you can read all this in a tabloid or online somewhere. But...it was pretty shitty. I never really knew my mom, and after she died my dad ignored me. He lost the one person he loved and I guess I was just too much of a reminder. The Parker's kind of took me in, in a sense. When I was eleven my dad shipped me off to boarding school and forgot about me," Harry bitterly spat his words. "Anyway, the rest is boring, and like I said very public. I believe you owe me your life story now. The only things I really know about you are that caffeine runs through your veins, you can't interact with others of your species, and you get off on cynicism."

"That covers all the important stuff," Reagan says as she pulls Harry into a pizza place and leads him to a table. She doesn't say anything until the waitress comes and even then she only speaks to order.

"To understand why I grew up in two different states and ended out come to New York for university I need to start before I was born. I'll give you the bullet points."

Reagan takes a deep breath and then as fast as she can she rattles of her bullet points, "My father grew up in Manhattan with his father and loathed it, so as soon as he could he was off university in Colorado where he lived with his mother and older sister. The summer after he was done university he met my mother. She was on a road trip with some friends, they stopped in town one night and walla-walla-bing-bang my life-givers met. On a whim my father joined her and her friends; which is really weird cause he is the lest spontaneous person I know. Anyway, they fell Disney-style in love and got engaged, however, my mom wasn't finished her education so they moved to Cali and had me," Reagan stops to catch her breath. At a normal speed she continues, "We were happy in California but tragedy befell my family when my uncle, my dad's brother in law, abruptly died. In the face of this calamity my parents decided to move to Colorado to be with my aunt and her daughter. The five of us combined our powers and moved in together-"

"You said you moved to Colorado when you were nine, right," Harry asks.

"mmhhhmm, why?"

"We-wellll," Harry stutters. "In the same year I 'lost' my family you gain another one. Sorry, I did mean to make this sad; I probably shouldn't have said that."

"No, no, it's fine. Just makes me think I should have appreciated them more," Reagan sombrely says. I'm – ah – I'm actually the first one to move out. When my cousin, who's older than me, got married her husband just moved in, and now she's got two point five kids. I'm totally the disappointment of the family, aren't I?"

The waitress returns with their food.

"Welcome to the club," Harry beams as the waitress sets their pizza on the table.

"I hated Colorado, it's all mountains and crap, and I hated the town we lived in," the hacker bitterly bites. "It was a small town of maybe 500 people; it was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone. I couldn't even sneak out of the house for more than an hour without getting a call from my dad saying so-and-so had seen me. Oh, and forget about having a personal life or secrets because people in my town like to take their metaphorical crowbars and pry as much as they can." _How I managed to keep my second puberty where I gained freaky techno powers and became one of the vile creatures that needs to be whipped of the face of the Earth a secret I'll never know._

Harry nods thoughtfully at the girl raging in front of him. "Why New York? Seems to me you would have gone back to California."

"Growing up my dad told me a lot of story of New York and it seemed like the best place to go. Far from Colorado, throngs of people, far from Colorado, technology everywhere, far from Colorado, no mountains, and no Mag Bishop," The last part was said more to herself then to Harry.

"Meg Bishop?" Harry inquires while curiously watching Reagan pick mushrooms off her pizza.

"Girl I grew up with," Reagan tells as she inspects her pizza for anymore mushrooms. "She was another thing I hated, although I didn't really have a real reason to hate her. She was a little judgmental and she could be slightly oblivious about the things she said, but overall she was a nice, well-meaning person. No sense of sarcasm thought… and, I mean, yeah, I was jealous of her ability to talk and get along with most people."

"Hmm, she sounds boring."

"She was."

A laugh passes between the pair.

* * *

"I have to ask," Harry begins. "This thing with you not doing public transport, why?"

The two are sitting on the steps of the Metropolitan, exhausted. By now it's late and the sun has already set. The Metropolitan had been the last stop on Reagan's Sensational New York Tour for the Rich and Bitchy. The Metropolitan was Harry's favourite. It was also Reagan's favourite, although that may have more to do with Harry's intensive knowledge and exuberant lectures about the art then the actually museum itself. It was wondrous for Reagan; she got to see a different side of Harry, an enthusiastic side.

The purple haired girl had been in a state of bliss ever since a genuine (and rare) smile planted itself on Harry's lips when he began to talk at lengths about the surrealist movement. However, Harry's question deflated the girl's happiness.

Reagan puffs out her cheeks and looks to the sky, "Kay," she reluctantly utters. "It's not a cute story, I don't do it because I like things a particular way, and it's not because I'm a snob."

"I never said you were-"

"I know what people think of me when I say I won't take public transportation," Reagan anxiously cuts him off. Harry motions for her to continue. "Were you in New York during the alien invasion?"

Harry shakes his head.

"I was. I was actually on the subway. I remember sitting there just listening to my music when the train hit...something and I remember hitting the seat in front of me and then I blacked out. I think I was only out for a couple of minutes but then again… When I woke up I couldn't hear anything but white noise and I couldn't see either. I could barely breath I was panicking so much. My sight was the first thing to come back; as weird as it sounds I'm happy that was the first thing to come back because as horrible as seeing the death and devastation around me; it was worse hearing it. The screams of people filled my eyes and the smell of blood my nose and – and." Reagan closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm her, it didn't work. "I tried to help, I tried to – to" Reagan chokes on her words and tears unwillingly slip from her eyes.

Harry grabs her hand with one of his while his other soothingly rubs her back. "You don't have to go on. You can stop here."

"Thank you, I don't think I can relive that again. I've spent so long forgetting and moving on and when I think about the p – the peo – people." At this Harry pulls Reagan into him and wraps his arms around her. She cries into his shoulder and the whole time Harry whispers to her that he is there for her and that it will be alright.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks once Reagan's sobs have died down.

Reagan bits her lip and nods her head.

Threading his fingers in her hair; Harry apologizes for bringing up these horrible memories.

She gives him a gracious, somewhat smile. "For the most part I've been able to move past this. After I was diagnosed with PTSD I sought help, first in a form of psychotherapy called CBT and then in group therapy."

"Thank you for telling me."

Biting her lip she nods to Harry. _Sorry I can't tell you the whole truth._

Reagan had lied, it was only one little white lie, but still…after so long of keeping that event of her life in it hurts her not to tell the whole truth to Harry. Reagan lied when she said she only heard white noise after waking up from her unconsciousness. The truth is she could her _them, _the aliens. She could hear their thoughts and she could feel what they felt. The words they spoke she couldn't understand, but emotions, those are universal. In those few moments she was connected to the Chitauri she felt more rage and blood-lust then she ever thought possible. After the event she discovered through what was public knowledge about the aliens and her own perception that the Chitauri were hive-minded creatures of organic and mechanical matter. Reagan has always chalked her momentary connection with the cybernetic race up to her powers. She figures the blow to her head must have subconsciously made something within her click; causing the drastic increase of her powers capabilities.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Harry asks.

Reagan shakes her head.

Harry taps his feet awkwardly and fiddles with his thumbs, "Do you, um, do you want to see Oscorp's nanobot lab?"

Reagan's red eyes light up slightly, "Hellz ya!"

* * *

"I know it sounds kind of scary – having hundreds of little robots inside your body, but think of the good we could do." Harry is showing Reagan the holographic blueprints of Oscorp's developing nanobots. "These little things could repair damaged tissue, or fight diseases at their beginning stages. We could save so many lives with these."

"You really want to help people don't you?"

Harry furrows his eyebrows at Reagan. "You sound shocked," Harry states, slightly defensive.

Reagan shrugs.

With seriousness Harry looks Reagan in the eye. "I know I'm not the most homely of people, I also know this company has done some pretty horrible things, regardless of its mission statement. But, I'm all for the betterment and preservation of humankind and this company has the resources to do that; they just have to be used properly," Harry turns his head away from Reagan to the nanobot holograph. "That's why I'm still here," he mutters while closing the holograph.

Admiration shines in Reagan's eyes as she looks over Harry. There's an odd heat spreading through her body; starting at her stomach and moving to her toes and finger.

The dirty blonde's seriousness turns back into excitement at the thought of showing something else to his schoolyard crush, "Speaking of helping people you need to see this…" A dejected feeling passes thought Harry upon seeing the distant and worrisome look on the woman's face. "I'm sorry, Reagan. Am I boring you?"

Reagan shoots her attention back to Harry. "No not at all, I actually find all of this fascinating."

Nodding his head and nibbling on his lip Harry mutters a wary good.

"So," Reagan moves her hair behind her ear. "Bet you bring all the girls here." She awkwardly laughs.

"No, surprise, surprise none of my girlfriends really cared what Oscorp did, just that it made a lot of money."

"Maybe you should date better people."

Harry chuckles "Look whose taking. How _did_ your line of less than adequate boyfriends start anyway? I mean, it's not like you're a moron, you had to know these relationships were domed from the start."

"Thanks, Harry. You're so polite," Reagan sarcastically monotones.

"I try. You gonna tell me?"

"You know, I feel as though I've been talking a lot today sooo…"

"How is that different from any other day?" Harry pokes fun of her.

Reagan sticks out her tongue. "Fine, you win. It started when my aunt made some stupid comment. I honestly don't remember what she said to me but teenaged me had to go off and do something stupid. Couple of days later I brought some burnout home; introduced him as my boyfriend. Understandable, everyone was upset at me but for the most part they didn't say anything. That first guy didn't last long, but I keep doing the same thing; I'd date some good-for-nothing and try to get a rise from my family, mostly my aunt. After a while my parents caught on and gave me this long talk about how family is important and I shouldn't do stupid stuff just to get back at my aunt, but by that time I was hooked. Hooked to the attitude of the guys, hooked to always having a new one, hooked to the way my aunt, and after a while my cousin, would react. Once I graduated high school I changed a little, the guys I dated were more or less the same, but I had longer more meaningful relationships with them. Now, since I moved here I've only had three relationships. The artist was the first; I ended it because I wasn't his _only_ 'muse'," Reagan quirks an eyebrow. "Then there was the musician: he was actually really cool, but we drifted apart and decided to end things."

"And the last one, the forensic scientist?"

"He was the one I should have married. He's the kind of person anyone should marry. He wasn't like the other guys I dated - he was actually nice and, well, normal. Simple, I guess you could say. I met him at group therapy. We weren't in the same group, he wasn't in any group. He just drove his brother every week. He'd wait outside the room and I would walk by him on my way out. He stopped me once and asked if I had a map because he got lost in my eyes."

"And you fell for that?"

"No, I ran away without saying anything. Next week he apologized and said he should have just straight out asked me on a date, then he straight out asked me on a date. During that time most of the group had regained some kind of normalcy, a routine. For me it was start every week with a call to my parents, go to school, get groceries on Wednesday, and have Tracey over on the weekend, then repeat. Because of this our group therapist was encouraging us to be a little spontaneous in our day-to-day. He told us to start off with small stuff like take a different route on our way to school or work, or call up a friend and have a chat at a random time. So, when James asked me out I though saying yes would count as being spontaneous for, well, forever."

A sad smile finds its way onto Reagan's lips. "He wasn't like any other guy I'd dated and at first I didn't think it would work out, but the more time I spent with him the more I appreciated who he was as a person. My time with him helped me get back to my old self and for that I'm so thankful to him."

"What happened?"

"I broke up with him."

"Why? It sounds like you really loved him."

Reagan sighs, "That's the problem. I loved him yeah, but I never felt like I was in love with him. So, I told him he deserved better than me, he deserved someone who would be in love with him as much as he was with them."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"He's getting married."

Harry pats a hand on her shoulder. "That must be hard for you. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm happy for him. It just sometimes feels like romantic love isn't a reality for me. Which is fine, I'm comfortable with living my life without a romantic partner, but it would be nice to know I'm capable of loving someone romantically. What about you? You seem like the time of person who doesn't believe in love, no offensive."

"Actually, I very much believe in love or at least platonic love. I've grown over the years to accepting that romantic love is a thing that happens for some."

"And for yourself?"

Harry takes a moment to move closer to Reagan. "My stance on feeling romantic love for another person has recently...shifted."

"OH, REALLY?" Reagan freezes, eyes are wide with panic.

"Yeah, really," Harry moves so there is barely any room between them. He brings his hand up and is about to move Reagan's hair behind her ear when the text alert on both of their phones go off.

The noise jolts Reagan from her frozen state and as fast as she can she moves away from Harry and checks her phone.

Harry clenches his teeth and his raised hand into a fist, and then checks his own phone.

"It's from Peter," Reagan exclaims. "He's been sending me-"

"Science facts of the day," Harry finishes her statement for her and hold his phone up to show the same text she received.

For the second time since arriving at Oscorp Reagan laughs an awkward, pitiful laugh. "I guess it makes sense that Peter would send them to you too. You know it's getting late and, well, ahhhh – a sleeping girl needs her grow. Yep, okay, cool." With that Reagan blots out of the room.

"Peter, I am going to kill you then next time I see you." Harry runs after Reagan, calling for her to wait and saying he'll take her home.

* * *

Reagan and Harry stand awkwardly outside Reagan's apartment, shoveling their feet and trying to find words.

"Thanks for taking me home...again. Do you want to come in for coffee? Oh my goodness! That sounded like I invited you in for sex. I'm not inviting you in for sex, I wouldn't - I wouldn't ever invite you to have sex with me. Oh crap, now it sounds like I think sex with you would be horrible. I don't think that. I'm sure sex with you would be very pleasurable...I'm going inside now. Night!" Reagan yells as she slams the door behind her. She's greeted with the sight of a horrified Tracey.

"Holy shit," Tracey whispers.

"Holy shit," Reagan repeats in the same volume.

"What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea," Reagan answers, horrified by her words.

"'Sex with you would be very pleasurable.' We're you completing a business transaction?"

Reagan groans, "I need a coffee."

"You need a life coach."

* * *

**Thanks for reading and as always feel free to review or PM me or talk to me on Tumblr. Hearing from you guys really keeps me going and I also get these warm, fuzzy feelings.**

**Expected update Nov 12th to Dec 12th.**

**I think picking a date is helping me to actually update. So I'm going to start doing this.**


	14. Today is Just Not a Good Day

**I wanted to get this chapter up a couple days ago, but I've been picking up extra shifts at work and my cousin came to visit. Butttttttttt I've managed to keep the deadline!**

**-Ra'iira The Fiend: Thanks so much for reviewing; I always love hearing from my readers. The ended of last chapter is so far my favourite thing I've written for ALLH so I'm really glad you liked it :)**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 14:  
Today is Just Not a Good Day**

Firm arms are placed on both sides of Reagan, trapping her against Harry's desk. The owner of the arms, Harry himself, is leaning on the desk so his face is inches away from the hacker's. Reagan has thought about jumping over the desk to escape the prison of the dirty blonde's arms, but she's pretty sure he'll be able to catch her before her tiny self can clear the desk.

With no escape route Reagan does what she does best; she babbles, "You smell minty. You don't normally smell minty - wait - actually, I've never been this close to you; I don't know what you normally smell like. I just always imagined you'd smell like whiskey or scotch...or perpetual sadness. Oh, oh, or your father's-"

Harry's lips roughly collide with Reagan's, their noses bump as Harry turns his head and his hands dig into her hips. While Reagan stands shell-shocked Harry hungrily kisses her. He kisses her like he's been lost in a desert and she's the first drop of water he's seen in a hundred days. When Harry realizes she's not moving her pulls away to look at her.

"Disappointment," Reagan says, breathless.

"What?" Harry pouts.

"I was just finishing my insult - what the hell was that?"

"I wanted you to shut up," Harry candidly states.

Reagan gasps like a fish, "You're messed up if you think you can go around swapping spit to shut people up. There are other ways, polite ways, to get people to stop talking."

"You're right; let's try this." With one swift motion Harry plants his lips on Reagan's neck and begins gently kissing and nibbling.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting you to stop talking," Harry says between kisses.

Reagan laughs, "yeah, like that is going to get me to shut uhhhh," Reagan moans as Harry finds a spot under the back of her jawbone. Harry smirks before nibbling that spot again. In Reagan's surprise she grips onto Harry's shoulders and lets out another moan.

Harry stands up straight and looks down at Reagan, "Sorry you were saying?"

"Just kiss me." Reagan pulls Harry towards her and crashes their lips together. They kiss feverishly, this time both are willing participants.

Harry sucks and pulls on her bottom lip and her fingers get lost in his hair. When Harry bites her bottom lip Reagan wakes with a scream.

She's in her bedroom, in her bed, in her pyjamas. Her breathes are heavy and her eyes rapidly blink.

_It was a dream. It was a dream. It was a sexy dream about my boss/business partner._

"Reagan, Reagan!"

The hacker's head shoots up at the sound of her roommate rushing into her room. Tracey has a panicked look on her face, one that confuses Reagan.

"Are you okay? Are you alright? Did you read it?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just had a dream about...I'm fine. Wait, read it? Read what?"

"The pap – its front – I thought you'd have," Tracey takes a breath to stop her mumbling. "It made front page," she says carefully.

It's then that Reagan notices the newspaper being griped tightly in Tracey's hands. "What's going on, Tracey?"

Tracey's eyes don't meet Reagan's as she hands her the paper. Confused Reagan looks at the headline, "Mutant Registration Act? What is this?" Reagan asks Tracey.

"Keep reading."

"_In the interest of public safety the Mutant Registration Act will require all mutants to register their identity and mutation with the United States government. By 2017 it is expected all mutants within America's borders will be registered. _They can't do this! We're people not animals." Rage fills Reagan. "If that information was leaked every single mutant would be in danger. We'd be getting slaughtered at our work, in our homes, on the streets. And this is just the beginning, Tracey. They'll imprint us and make us wear suppressers. We are living beings, we have rights, we-we-we don't stand a chance." Reagan throws the newspaper across the room and lets out an angry scream. "What do I do, Tracey? I have no idea what to do. Should I run or fight or…" Reagan looks at the brunette with devastation.

Tracey shakes her head and lets out a breath she was holding. "I don't know, Reagan. I honestly don't know. But I do know no mutant is going to stand for this. There is a way to fight this; we just have to find it." Tracey bits her lips. "It's not okay to leave you alone today, is it?"

Reagan shakes her head.

"Do you want to come to work with me and sit on the floor of my cubical like you used to do?"

* * *

"...ugh do any of these places you found have less than five people already living there?" Tracey, who is sitting at her desk doing work, asks her companion on the floor.

"That would be a negative, Trace."

Tracey stopped typing. "You suck at this, Reagan. Never become a real estate agent."

"Well, there goes all of my dreams. Dashed."

"You have to hear the truth eventual...Hey, Reagan."

"Yeah?"

"Your boyfriend is talking to my supervisor," Tracey nods her head in their direction.

"What?" Reagan pops her head up but quickly moves out of Harry's sight. "You don't think he saw me do you?"

Silence.

"Tracey?!"

"He's walking this way."

"What?" Reagan rolls underneath Tracey's desk.

"Shut up, he's coming to my desk."

"What? And he's not my boyfriend."

Tracey quickly staples on a professional attitude. "Mr. Osborn, what may I help you with?"

Harry's lips pull into a flirty smirk. "Hi there, I'm having a little computer...desk...trouble. It's being slow."

A knowing look flicks across Tracey's face as she smirks and raises an eyebrow. Tracey let's out an easy laugh, "Computer-desk. That sounds like something my friend would say." Tracey starts writing on a post-it note. "Especial when she's flirting with someone. Reagan seems to lose even more control of her mouth when she's flirting-OW."

Reagan just kicked her friend in the shin.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, concerned.

"Fine just bumped my knee. Almost done here, Sir," she gestures to the post-it note.

He nods, "I hope you can help me; I did ask your supervisor for the best."

Tracey stops writing and doubtfully looks at Harry, "and he sent you to me?"

"No he actually told me to go to that guy," Harry points to a cubical not far from Tracey's with a well put together man sitting inside. "But, well, you're prettier." The flirty smirk again.

"So your hybrid needs a reboot ever couple of mouths or it gets slow. I can't do it from here, but I did write down exactly what you need to do," she hands him the post-it.

"Thank you very much...I'm sorry. I never asked for your name."

"It's Tracey. Tracey MacTaggert."

"Interesting last name," Harry remarks, obviously trying to keep the conversation going.

"It was my grandmother's. Was there anything else I can help you with, sir?"

"Harry, please. And do you mind if I write something down for you?"

Tracey hands him the post-its and a pen. "Have at her."

Harry quickly scratches something down and passes the post-its back to Tracey.

It reads: _I know Reagan is under your desk. I'm flirting with you to make her jealous. Sorry, you really are very nice._

Tracey looks at Harry to see him biting his lip. She smells and nods at him, letting him know it's okay.

"Well, I ah, I hope you'll call me sometime, Tracey."

"I'll think about it, Harry." Tracey's tone is flirty.

He winks at her before walking away.

"He's gone."

"That ass," Reagan mutters as she crawls out from under the desk. "It took me nearly a month to get on first name bases with him."

Tracey quickly hides the post-it. "Mhhh, he was probably just scared of his feelings for you."

But Reagan was too far gone in her ranting to hear.

* * *

Tracey steps off the elevator, and then turns confused to Reagan who hasn't left the lift. Tracey puts her hand on the door frame to stop them from closing. "Aren't you coming?"

Reagan is silent for a moment, she stares at the floor. "No," she shakes her head. "I've got to have a talk with someone on the next floor up."

Tracey nods in understanding and removes her hand from the door frame. "Good luck," the brunette says as the door closes. Even though the ride is barely a minute long to Reagan it feels much longer. Her gut drops when the elevator dings. She's stuck between wanting to do anything for the family that lives above her and fearing that she won't be able to do anything for the Josh. Sure she's his friend and he'll often talk to her about his problems, but in the past he's always sought her out. Reagan knows in her heart this problem is different, it's got to be if he feels like he can't even come to her about it. _What if I can't help him? What I make it worse?_ Reagan finds herself at the Reid's door; she doesn't even remember walking here. _What do I do if this problem is too big for me, or if he refuses to talk to me?_ Reagan's fears swell inside of her making her heart drop to her gut.

She's got the powers of a superhero. _Superheroes help people no matter the obstacles_. Reagan knows her powers are completely useless in this situation, but it's a comfort nonetheless. Reagan gulps and knocks on the door. She doesn't have to wait long. The door is ripped open and Reagan is tackled in a hug by Jane. "Thank you so much, Reagan. He hasn't talked to me at all today." Jane pulls away but keeps her hands on Reagan's arms.

"It's the least I can do, Jane."

"Josh, come here please." Jane yells into her apartment. A moment later Josh comes to stand in the door way, he looks devastated. There is no trace of the loving boy Reagan knows.

Reagan gives Jane a tight lipped smile and a pat on her arm, and then she turns to the boy. "Let's go for a walk, Josh." Josh lifelessly follows her down the hall and into the stairway; Reagan walks down a couple steps and sits. She invites Josh to sit beside her; he does. "Hardly anyone in this building uses the stairs."

Josh doesn't say anything; he doesn't even look at her.

"I won't beat around the bush. I know you know why I'm here."

Nothing.

"Josh, I know this problem isn't normal if it was you would have come to me. But I want to help you; I want to do anything I can for you. And we're friends; you know me and you know I won't judge you."

Nothing.

Reagan sighs, not one to give up, she tries again. "I have fears too. I fear you won't open up to me. I fear I won't be able to help. I fear I'm useless to you. But I have to try, Josh. Because if I don't try; you won't open up to me, and I'm not any help to you, and I _am_ useless. If I don't try than my fears are actualize. And I fail you. And I fail myself."

For the first time Josh looks Reagan in the eye. There is fear in his eyes. Fear for his life, fear of everyone around him. It's an unfamiliar look on the boy's face, but Reagan still recognizes it; although she can't place where she's seen it before.

"I think I'm crazy, Reagan - or I hope I am. It's better than the alternative." Reagan sits patiently, waiting for him to continue. "I hear voices. Not in my head or anything. I hear them from machines." The boy gulps. "Like I'm some kind of...like I'm a...a..."

It's then that Reagan knows where she's seen the fear Josh has.

Herself.

"A mutant," she breathes.

* * *

**WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT**

**Okay so I know that was kind of a short chapter, but I love it so much and I hope you guys love it too.**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and just everything! You guys rock! Also thanks to all the people following me on Tumblr :3**

**Please review, tell me what you think.**

**Expected update Jan 9 - Feb 9.**


	15. Are We Mutants or Monsters?

**JUST MADE IT. Guys I'm so sorry for how short this chapter is; it was actually much longer but I deleted the begging and rewrote it like an hour ago. Anyway, because the chapter is so short there is an excerpt from the next chapter on my tumblr (link at the bottom).**

**-bullybullet6: Aww thank you so much. I've very happy you like it.**

**-guest: hahaha oh my goodness this is the best review and you are the best. This review made my month!**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

Chapter 15:  
Are We Mutants or Monsters?

Reagan was seventeen when she first put two and two together after a long, bizarre week. It started when strange things began happening, like lights turning on and off by themselves, the microwave warming food at a different time than she put in, there was also the hand dryer that broke while she was using it. However, even with all the odd happenings Reagan didn't really clue in until her social studies teacher brought up a discussion about mutants.

During that class she had a _slight_ panic attack and ended up triggering her powers. She caused a school-wide black out. The upside was she got to go home early; the downside was if anybody found out what she was Reagan Knox would be history. That day she made the decision to contain her powers deep inside her, and without the proper environment or constant use Reagan's powers were not able to develop properly.

Josh knew he was a mutant he didn't need anyone to tell him that; just like how Reagan never needed anyone to tell her. But there was something he needed, something she never had and something she could give him.

Someone who understands.

"Oh, Josh," Reagan takes the boy in her arms and hugs him tightly. "It'll be alright. I'll be here for you."

"You're – you're not scared of me; even though I'm a monster?"

Reagan runs her fingers through the boy's hair. "Monster is not a synonym for mutant," Reagan pulls away slightly and grabs Josh's face in her hands. "Repeat that to me please. Josh, look me in the eyes and say that."

With tears welling in his eyes he repeats the woman's words back to her.

"Do you believe that, Josh?"

He didn't answer, he just stared at her; letting his tears slip down his cheeks. Reagan wipes away his tears and asks him "do you think I'm a monster?"

"No, of course not-"

"If you don't believe that I'm a monster you can't believe the word mutant is interchangeable with monster."

Josh gaped at her, disbelieving. "You mean that…"

Reagan nods her head, and Josh latches on to Reagan for dear life. Reagan does the same. They stay like that for what seems like hours, both needing this more then they knew.

It's Reagan who breaks the silence. "So, you can hear machines?"

"Yeah, our phone doesn't shut up."

They both laugh; bringing a leave of ease that wasn't there previously.

"Our powers aren't that different. I can manipulate technology."

"Can you show me?"

"uhh," Reagan brings her fist to rest on her lips. "I'm not that good at it, sorry."

Josh pats Reagan's arm sympathetically, "It's okay, neither am I."

The purple haired girl chuckles, "Yeah but you're powers are just developing, whereas mine have been around for five years." Reagan changes the subject as quick as she can, "How'd you figure it out, kid?"

"When your calculator says "hey, dummy the answer's 42 – I'll calc-you-later, pea brain," it's not too difficult to figure it out."

The both fall into a laughing fit; they laugh so hard Reagan's stomach stars to hurt. "Are you feeling better?" She asks while clutching her sore stomach. Josh nods his head; a big smile is plaster on his face. It's such a happy smile that Reagan can hardly remember how he looked when they came down here. "It's late; I should get you back to your mother. Josh, if you need anything. Mutant related or not, but especially mutant related, you call me. Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

"You are the perfect wife," Reagan says as Tracey hands Reagan a cup of coffee. "I just had a serious conversation with a boy I think of as a little brother and you have coffee made for me when I walk through that door-"

"It's decaf, my lovely wife."

"I take everything back."

Tracey chuckles, "I bet you do," she walks to the couch. "And don't you dare pour the down the sink."

Reagan stops tilting the mug over the sink before any liquid can escape. "How did she know?" Reagan whispers to herself. "Her back was to me."

"Come, sit. Let's talk about it."

Reagan obliges the brunette and collapses beside her on the couch. Reagan's head is on Tracey's shoulder and Tracey runs some fingers through Reagan's hair. "What's up with the little fry?"

"Oh you know, just discovering his mutation that society views as monstrous. Just the ushe for a boy his age," Reagan's tone is nonchalant with a bitter undertone."

"Josh is a mutant?"

Reagan hums.

"But he's so young."

Reagan hums again.

"What does that mean for him?"

The hacker takes a big swig of her decaf coffee; she cringes at the taste. "I have no clue. About any of this. Tracey, how am I supposed to help Josh when I can't even help myself?"

Tracey's fingers are still running soothingly through Reagan's hair. "You be there for him. Having you means he's already one step better then you were."

"Yeah, you're right. He'll be better than me. He has to be better than me." The two sit in silence for a while.

"There's something I haven't really told you," Tracey confesses.

"I knew it."

"Ya, ya, I'm super obviously when I have a secret. I didn't tell you earlier because it wasn't official. I'm changing majors. I've decided to become a geneticist."

Reagan keeps opening and closing her mouth; trying to find the right words. She settles on "huh?"

"Do you remember my grandmother-"

"The one who worked for the government, but one day out of nowhere quit to becoming a geneticist?" Reagan cuts her off excitedly.

"Yes that one. Anyway, the reason grandma Moira actually left the CIA is because of one mission. I don't know what the mission was about and neither did my grandma; she had her memory wiped. But little pieces would come back to her and eventual she remembered enough to know the mission was about mutants. That's when she decided to dedicate her life to the mutant cause. When she passed she left all her research to me. Reagan, I think I need to follow in her footsteps. There are too many mutants in the world like you and Josh; with no place to go and no one to turn to."

Reagan turns so she is sitting on her knees; facing Tracey. Reagan throws her arms around her best friend. "You are amazing and wonderful and if you are not the most careful person in the world I will kill you," Reagan pulls back. "I'm serious. If something happens to you I will forever believe it to be my fault."

Tracey pats Reagan's arm, "I'll be fine. I promise."

"You better be. I can't lose you," Reagan hugs her friend one more time then jumps off the couch. "I need you to make me one more promise. You won't get mad at me for what I'm about to do."

Tracey's whole demeanour drops. "Reagan, what are you about to do?"

Reagan pulls out her phone and begins dialling. "Your confession got me thinking."

"Reagan, who are you calling?"

Reagan puts the phone to her ear and holds up a finger to Tracey.

"Reagan, I have to know," Tracey demands.

Tracey can hear the ringing stop and a male voice answer.

"Uhhh. Heyyyy, James. It's Reagan. Look I need a favour."

* * *

**Done!**

**Here's the link blog/thepeacefultempest**

**I promise the next chapter is going to be so much more.**

**Thanks for read and reviewing!**

**Respected update March 9 to April 9**


	16. You Could Stay Here

**Sorry about being a little late; I decided to push the update time back due to my fathers birthday. If there is ever a reason I don't make an update when I say I will I'll try and post it on my tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.**

* * *

**Chapter 16:  
You Could Stay Here**

"Do you want me to leave you and your date alone?" Tracey asks as she watches Reagan rush around the apartment, cleaning.

"It's not a date and yes I want you to leave," Reagan says as she kicks up some dirty clothes into her arms.

Tracey hums knowingly, "If it's not a date why do you want me to leave?"

"Not. A. Date."

"Yeah, sure – what bra are you wearing?"

"WHAT?!" Reagan stops what she's doing to stare at her best friend in horror

Tracey innocently shrugs, "Are you wearing your fancy bra?"

Reagan doesn't answer her friend; she only lets out a small shriek of shock.

Tracey gets off the couch and walks over to the coffee machine, a fresh pot is boiled. Tracey pours one cup and brings it over to Reagan who is busy throwing the clean silverware into the drawer. "Stop messing up our silverware drawer and drink your stupid coffee." Reagan snatches the mug from Tracey's hands and starts guzzling it. "Everything will be fine. Okay? Normally I'd tell you to not do anything remotely like yourself, but honestly I think he is super into how disturbingly awkward you are."

"You think so - I mean…shut up, you bitch," Reagan half-heatedly insults.

_DING-DONG._

Both girls freeze then whisper "He's here."

Reagan puts her mug down and tries not to walk _too_ quickly to the door. She counts to three then opens the door.

Harry Osborn is standing in the doorway with a smug yet nervous smile and a metal box in his hands. Neither Reagan nor Harry say anything, that is until Harry realizes how awkward standing silently in Reagan's doorway is. "This is exciting," he lamely exclaims. "Third time standing outside your home; first time actually going in."

"Right," Reagan snaps out of her daze. "Well, come on in."

"Thanks."

"Hello, Harry," Tracey greets.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the lovely and helpful Tracey MacTaggert!" He says as he strides over to Tracey and pulls her into a hug. "Did it work?" He whispers into her ear.

"Look for yourself," she whispers back.

Harry moves away from the hug and casually turns towards Reagan. She's gripping the open door.

"Aren't you leaving, Trace?" Reagan says through her teeth.

Tracey lumbers to the door. "You two have a good night," before existing the apartment she stops and cheekily teases, "If you guys get up to anything worn me; send a text or put a tie on the door."

"Leave!" Reagan yells as she slams the door behind her maybe (the jury still out) ex-roommate.

In a huff Reagan turns to Harry who is right behind her holding out the metal box to her. She takes it and nods to the couch. As Harry walks to the couch he teases, "I've known girls with kinks but blood? I did not expect that from you, Reagan."

"Shut up and take your coat off."

Harry discards his jacket on the couch. "My shirt too?" Before Reagan can answer he's already in the process of pulling his shirt off by the hem. "Nonono," she tosses the metal box on the couch and grabs his arms so she can pull his shirt back down. As she does her hand brushes his stomach; she's not really sure where exactly all the air she usual stores in her lungs went. "Slow down there, speed racer. It's your blood I want not your body."

"You sure," he mutters lowly.

"Yes," she bites.

"Then you should probably let go of me, you're starting to leave marks.

Oh shit, she is. She's holding onto him like a vice grip and her nails are digging into his arm. If Harry is bothered by this he doesn't show it.

Without a word Reagan forcefully pushes Harry onto the couch, sits down beside him, and opens the metal box. Inside are two needles, a needle injector, two vials with unmarked labels, medical gloves, cotton swabs, and disinfectant.

Harry snaps the gloves on and wastes no time in cleaning her arm with disinfectant. "Have you ever taking blood before?" Harry asks as he loads the needle into the injector.

Reagan shakes her head, "Never."

"The injector I've put the needle in will take the actually blood. All you have to do is line up the blue line on it with one of my veins," Harry explains while lining up the injector with one of her veins. "Pull the trigger, keep a steady hand, and wait."

Reagan watches as her blood fills the needle; the sight makes her a little woozy but Harry's presents is a comfort.

Once the needle is full the injector draws the needle back and Harry is quick to place a cotton swab on her arm. "Hold that," he says.

Harry then places one of the vials into a compartment of the injector and she watches the blood drain form the needle and rush into the vial. Once all her blood is in the vial Harry swaps out the needle while Reagan pulls the gloves on and rubs some disinfectant on the inside of Harry's elbow.

Harry holds out the injector for her to take but she hesitates. "Sorry, Harry. I just don't want to stab you wrong."

"I'll walk you through it," He comforts.

Reagan nods and tentatively takes the injector from him.

"Now line up the blue line with my vein. Good and breathe. Keep a steady hand. And pull the trigger. Good, good. You're doing very well, Reagan. There, all done."

Harry grabs one of the cotton swabs to hold against his arm while Reagan catches her breath. She didn't even notice Harry had taken the injector from her until he is putting everything back in the box and handing her the vials to put into the fridge.

"Why did you need your blood as well?"

Reagan's glad her back is to him as she puts the vials in the fridge. "I don't know." _Yes I do._ "I just thought my friend may need a sample of normal blood." _Mutant blood._ "Plus I thought I'd be kind of cool to get my blood tested." _Because it's definitely not normal and I'd like to know what's happening inside my body." _Reagan is still standing with her back to Harry.

"Who is this friend of yours anyway?" Harry's voice is much closer then Reagan expected it to be. She expected it to be over on the couch where she left Harry, not right behind her. Because of this Reagan jumps and shrieks.

"Don't do that," she says as she turns around to face him. She goes to hit him but Harry catches her hand in his.

"Can we trust your friend?" Harry asks, ignoring her little outburst.

Reagan, still fluster from Harry materializing right behind her, lets slip her 'friends' name as she insists they can trust him.

Upon hearing the name Harry's grip on Reagan's hand tightens, "James – as in your ex-boyfriend James?"

Reagan's not sure if it's from accidentally saying James' name or if it's the way Harry's hand is making hers tingle, but she cannot for the life of her make actually words come from her mouth. It feels like it's been minutes of her rambling and stumbling through words when it's actually only been a couple seconds. A couple very awkward seconds for Harry. Thankful the oven beeps, interrupting her. "Dinners ready!" She says awkwardly. Or at least she thinks that's what she says. It's not though. What actually happens is she mutters a couple of indiscernible 'words' and one that almost sounds like dinner.

Harry sighs, "Reagan you can't honestly think that going to your ex-boyfriend is a good idea."

"Why not, Harry? James and I are…good. He's getting married and crap, and I'm-"

"You're what, Reagan?"

"Not in love with him."

"Is that it?" Harry is suddenly very interested in his shoes.

"Yeah."

Reagan tries to convince herself that she's not lying; what she said was absolutely the truth. She has to be telling the truth because it can't go any other way. There is no other way because death is pretty finale. She is not lying.

It's funny though; how quickly she'll forget that little fact every time he smiles or calls her Reagan...especially when he calls her Reagan. The way he says her name is like how pizza tastes. She also forgets she's not lying every time his hands brush her. He's hands brush her a lot, making it really hard to think because they leave a trail of fire along her.

_No. No they don't. They can't. Harry Osborn cannot have any sort of effect on me. That's not how it's supposed to be. I'm not supposed to fall – that's not how it's supposed to be._

"Voilà!" Reagan cheers as she sets down two plates in front of her and Harry.

The dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets are a little lacklustre for Harry. Sardonically, Harry picks up one of the T-Rex nuggets. "You are the only person in the world who would try to feed a CEO of a billion dollar corporation dinosaur chicken nuggets."

Reagan grabs the Dino from Harry, "But it's a T-Rex. Rawr."

A blank stare is all Reagan receives from Harry.

"What? Are you too good for dinosaur chicken nuggets? You think you're hot shit, don't ya?" Reagan takes a step forwards as she taunts. She's definitely crossed the line into Harry's personal space (which is always awkward given how short she is).

_Holy macaroni he smells amazing. Why didn't I let him take his shirt off – nope! Step away._

Her feet betray her though. They won't move no matter how much she wills them to. Unfortunately, between the betrayal of her feet and the growing awareness to how close proximity to Harry makes her feel she is not at all prepared for Harry grabbing wrist.

Reagan jumps at the sudden contact, and at the same time the microwave blows up.

Both heads snap around to look at the dead microwave. Without a second thought Reagan pulls her wrist from Harry's grasp and throws the T-Rex nugget at him (which he catches). "Shit! Not again!" Reagan yells at the microwave while fanning away the smoke with a tea towel.

"Does this happen often?" Harry asks through a mouthful of T-Rex.

* * *

Harry Osborn is definitely the kind of person to snoop, and yes that is considered rude in most circles, but it's not like he's trying to hide it from Reagan; he's actually being painfully obvious about it.

"Hey, Reagan?" he shouts while shuffling through a huge pile of post cards from Reagan's parents.

Reagan comes to stand beside him as she asks what's up.

"It's just the post cards," he holds one out to show her. "They're all addressed to you, Reagan Knox, but your parents sometimes call you Sophie?"

Reagan's face pales at Harry's hidden question. She brings her fist to rest on her mouth and murmurs "it's my middle name."

"Your parents call you by your middle name?"

"No, they call me by my birth name."

Harry's eyebrows furrow together, "Your parents named you Sophie Sophie?"

"No," Reagan groans. "They named me Sophie Reagan. I had them legally switched."

"Why?"

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly well."

With her face still hiding behind her fist Reagan starts squirming. Harry notes that he's never made her this uncomfortable before.

Reagan mumbles something unintelligible. Harry's only response is to raise an eyebrow and give her a very pointed stare.

Reagan groans as she throws her hands up in frustration. "I said it's too pretty. I never felt like it belonged to me; I'm too awkward to be a Sophie," Reagan shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "My parents are the only people I'll allow to call me that; luckily they don't do it much anymore. Can we stop talking about this now?"

Harry has to agree with Reagan; Sophie just doesn't suit her, he imagines it would feel a little like acid on the tongue to call her that. She's not too pretty for it though; that he disagrees with (although, Harry may be a little bias).

Harry pats Reagan on the arm, "Course, Reagan." He means to start up a different conversation but her skin touching his hand is so warm and smooth that it takes all his focus not to run his hand down her arm. His need to touch and be near her scares him. It's not like he means to touch her so much; it not like he's doing it deliberately. They're just innocent touches between friends: a quick brush when they hand each other things or a gentile hand on her back to guild her. He's aware of when he touches her, he's not always aware when his hands move to her, but, oh, is he aware when his hands meet her. She doesn't burn him, no, she sets him on fire. And every time he touches her he's brought back to that day in his office when they said to hell with it and he held her in his arms for the first time_. For the only time, _he reminds himself_._ He longs to hold her again and given the chance he wouldn't do something stupid like let go of her like he did last time. Harry Osborn has never felt this way before; not about anyone, and that scares him.

He can see Reagan tensing under his touch. He pulls his hand away. _She's uncomfortable. _"I should go," he hates the words as they come out of his mouth, but he hates himself more for making her uncomfortable.

"What are you going to do," Reagan flinches at her own words, as if they surprised her.

Harry wishes he could lie to her and tell her he's going to work or get some sleep, but looking at her now; feeling what he feels, he can't lie to her. "I'm gonna go and drink," he says candidly, rushing to her door. He can't stay in her apartment; he has to get out of here and away from her.

He's just grabbed the door handle when her voice, barely above a whisper says "You could stay here and drink."

If his need to hold her scares him, then her hold over him petrifies him. Harry's not exactly sure when he gave up his freewill to this pintsized creature, but he did and now it's hers forever.

* * *

**We've got a little role reversal going on here.**

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